


Ad Astra Per Aspera

by fortescuestreacletart



Series: Bis vivit qui bene vivit. [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), F/M, Female Harry Potter, Good Albus Dumbledore, Horcruxes, James Potter is a Good Friend, Master of Death Harry Potter, Time Travel, Walburga Black's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28818597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortescuestreacletart/pseuds/fortescuestreacletart
Summary: I open at the close.Iris Potter did not board a train back to the Battle of Hogwarts. Iris Potter did not bring down Voldemort with a well cast Expelliarmus. Iris Potter woke on the cold ground of the Forbidden Forest staring at familiar pair of grey eyes.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Past Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter - Relationship, Regulus Black/Harry Potter
Series: Bis vivit qui bene vivit. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140752
Comments: 86
Kudos: 566





	1. Prologue

Prologue

 _“After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.”_ -Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, pg. 297.

In one universe a dark haired young man walked upright to his death. As the green light filled the clearing he dreamed desperately of a future, of warm lips, of a beautiful woman.

In another universe, one not so dissimilar to the first, a young woman with bright hair stepped into the same clearing to meet her fate. She saw the man who tried to be a monster and thought of all that lay between them. She thought of four boys who were like brothers, ripped apart. She thought of flaxen hair, a knowing smirk and sightless grey eyes. She thought of another motherless child. And as this clearing filled with green light she did not hear the high cruel voice as it uttered the killing curse, instead, the girl heard a familiar voice begging once again. _“Not Iris. Please, don’t kill Iris.”_

The young man regained consciousness. He went on to slay the monster and in that story all was well. But that, of course, is not our story. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work does not have a Beta and I will be editing everything myself. If you catch grammatical errors feel free to give me a shout but like everyone I make mistakes. Please keep that in mind & be kind. I like the idea of what changes would have been made to cannon with a Girl Who Lived and have always felt that Regulus Black is an interesting character. I hope to do him and all of JKR's world justice.


	2. I.

I.

 _“Kreacher and Regulus’s family were all safer if they kept to the old pure-blood line. Regulus was trying to protect them all.”_ -Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows pg. 198.

Regulus Black walked carefully into the Forbidden Forest. As a Slytherin, he was generally above such foolhardy activity. Unlike his older brother, Regulus did not seek out places merely because they were forbidden to him. Sirius was the adventurer, the maverick. Regulus, instead, had always found it easier, safer to act as he was expected. Regulus shook his head to rid himself of thoughts of Sirius as he continued to pick his way through the densely wooded ground. He could not, he _should_ not be thinking of his brother. Regulus knew that referring to Sirius as his brother even in the sanctity of his own mind was wrong. Mother had, almost two years ago now, removed all traces of Sirius from his family. What remained was a closed door, behind which lay a shrine to the white sheep of the Black family as it steadily grew a thick coating of dust.

It was always hardest to rid himself of thoughts of Sirius at Hogwarts, here, where his older brother had always felt larger than life. At the beginning of the year, Regulus could not stop himself from covertly watching the older boy as he laughed with James Potter and their cult of sycophants at the Gryffindor table; as he ambled through the halls with a careless grace that despite all his efforts Regulus was unable to mimic; as he threw himself into countless battles to defend the rights of mudbloods and blood traitors. Sirius had always burned as bright as the star for which he had been named; yet, he only ever seemed to burn Regulus. Others were able to reach out and touch his brother’s flame before pulling away unharmed. In fact, it seemed to Regulus that Sirius was able to share his fire with those closest to him and that heat, that brightness only brought them closer together. Regulus, on the other hand, had to content himself to remain in the shadows cast by Sirius’ light, never drawing close enough to feel its warmth.

As Regulus wound his way deeper into the forest, the overgrowth became too dense for the weak Scottish sun to penetrate. Regulus pulled out his wand and quietly lit it before beginning to look in earnest for what lead him into the forest this September afternoon. If his research had been accurate the horses, no the thestrals, ought to be in this part of the forest. Regulus had been, understandably, overwhelmed when he had returned to Hogwarts a few weeks ago only to encounter a large, winged, black horse attached to the carriage meant to bring them up to the castle from Hogsmeade Station. He had been even more concerned when Travers and Rowle had proclaimed themselves unable to see the beast. Regulus worried that he had perhaps contracted the Black madness after all. He had spent all his free time the past two weeks cloistered in the library researching magical creatures to prove that the beast did in fact exist and that he was _not_ going mad. Regulus had almost given up all hope before he finally encountered a section on thestrals in a book on death omens two days ago.

Suddenly, Regulus heard a soft rustling up ahead. He could make out a small clearing in the dim light cast by his wand and saw something moving on the ground. Regulus stood stock-still. The thing on the ground was too small to be a thestral and who knew what else lurked in these woods. Regulus was debating whether he could quickly make a retreat without alerting whatever creature lay on the ground in front of him when it moved again. He caught sight of something red on the ground glowing in the wand light like flames on the darkened earth. Regulus crept forward and he was finally able to see that it was not a creature but a young woman sprawled on the damp earth.

Regulus, heedless of any danger, rushed forward into the clearing to kneel next to the young woman on the ground. For a moment, Regulus thought the girl was Lily Evans, but as he drew closer he realized that she bore only a passing resemblance to the Head Girl with her riotous mass of red hair and pale skin. Too pale, Regulus thought. The girl was breathing shallowly and it was clear that she had recently been through something traumatic. Her odd muggle attire was ripped and dirty; in places it even looked singed. Her wand was laying limply in her right hand, her fingers wrapped loosely around it as though she had been gripping it tightly when she fell. Most curious of all, Regulus thought, was a cut above her left eye, which was oozing blood. The cut was in the shape of a lightening bolt.

Regulus reached trembling fingers out to touch the girl’s hand. It was hot to the touch, almost feverish. As he contemplated whether he ought to try to renervate her or levatae her to the hospital wing, the hand he was touching twitched. The girl let out a soft moan and her eyes blinked open. For a second, Regulus just stared into the kaleidoscope of greens, browns and golds in her irises. Then the girl exhaled quietly and said in a low voice, “Sirius?”

Regulus jerked back from the girl as though burned. She thought he was his brother, would be disappointed, no doubt, to find him instead. He cleared his throat and spoke in a dry voice, “Erm… No. I’m Regulus Black. I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

The girl was pulling herself into a sitting position with the stiff movements of someone who had been severely injured. A look of confusion past over her features, “Sirius’ brother?” she asked, her eyes roamed over his face, perhaps categorizing the subtle differences between his and his older brother’s. “What are you doing here?”

Regulus was not quite sure how to answer that question. It was she, was it not, who was trespassing on school grounds. Surely, if this girl were a fellow pupil, Regulus would have noticed her in the past. Even if she were a Hufflepuff or a mudblood, she would not have escaped his notice, that hair was simply too eye catching to ignore.

Before Regulus could formulate an appropriate response to her question the girl asked another. “Where are we, Regulus Black?”

This question, he could answer. “The Forbidden Forest, on Hogwarts grounds. Do you not remember how you got here?”

She made a small noise in the back of her throat that could have been surprise. “The Forbidden Forest,” she repeated. “No… I remember how I got there. I suppose, I just assumed that I would be somewhere else.”

This girl was making very little sense and Regulus found the beginnings of annoyance with this strange creature, who clearly would rather his brother have found her. With a sudden desire to be rid of any responsibility towards the young woman and back in the Dungeons with his friends, Regulus spoke, “Shall I take you to the Hospital Wing? I think you need to be looked at.”

“Oh? The Hospital Wing is here?” the girl questioned as she pushed a lock of red hair off of her face. “Yes, I suppose that’s as good a place as any.”

Regulus nodded, no longer interested in puzzling out her strange answers. He rose to his feet and with manners long drilled into him offered the girl his hand. She placed her smaller one in his and let him pull her to her feet. As he did so, her breath escaped in a hiss as though in pain, but when she was on her feet she promptly dropped his hand and she did not seem as though she would be willing to accept further assistance.

The two slowly began to walk back the way Regulus had come, Regulus taking care to match his pace to her belabored one, and the light from her wand adding to his own. The walked for a few minutes in silence before Regulus spoke again, slightly exasperated, “You seem to have me at a disadvantage. You know who I am. You know my br—“ and here he cut off, unable to say brother, to claim kinship even to this strange girl. He continued after a moment. “Family,” for surely, if she knew Sirius, she knew of the Blacks. “But… I don’t even know your name.”

The girl started at his words and her strangely colored eyes darted up to meet his again. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I just… I guess I am not used to introducing myself. Most people know me...” She smiled wryly and stuck out her right hand as though to shake. “I’m Iris Potter.”

Regulus stopped walking and stared at the woman in front of him. “Potter? You don’t look like a Potter.” He spoke without thinking. To his surprise, Iris giggled. “Who are your parents?” he continued rudely.

Rather than berate him for his thoughtlessness, the girl simply smiled and lowered the hand, which he had not shaken in his surprise. “James and Lily Potter.”

Regulus groaned, now he understood. “Very funny,” he replied in a sardonic tone. “Truly amusing. I see, prank the Slytherin. I assume my brother and his band of misfits put you up to this.” Ignoring the look of confusion of the girls face, she had clearly missed her calling as an actress, Regulus called loudly into the forest. “Come out Sirius! You’ve had your laugh!”

No one came. In front of him Iris, or whatever her real name was, looked indignant. “I am not joking,” she replied hotly.

“Right,” Regulus said scathingly. “I think I’d know if our Head Boy and Girl had a teenaged daughter.” Regulus turned away from the girl and began to examine the trees around them for signs of the Gryffindors. This joke was in poor taste, Regulus decided. No matter how much Sirius and his cronies enjoyed a laugh they ought to understand that tensions were growing and leaving a girl to play injured alone in the forest was asking for trouble. He turned back to the girl and began to ask why she had decided to go along with this prank in the first place before noticing the look of complete surprise mixed with abject horror on the her features.

“Regulus,” The girl started before cutting herself off and making an aborted movement with her hand. “Regulus, what year is it?” she asked in a deadly serious tone.

He stared at the girl in front of him. No, Regulus thought, she could not be implying what he thought she was. Time travel to that extent simply was not possible. And yet, Regulus realized, it suddenly seemed much more likely than some schoolboy prank perpetrated by his brother and her…her… father. “It’s 1977,” Regulus replied carefully watching her face for a reaction.

Iris swore loudly and colorfully. Regulus noted that James Potter’s progeny seemed to share his vocabulary if nothing else. However, now that he was looking for it, he realized that there was some of Potter in her cheekbones, her long nose, and her eyes could be his as well. Regulus had never gotten close enough to his brother’s friend to tell for sure.

“Right,” She breathed. “Right,” and then suddenly, as though a switch had been flicked, the confused and docile girl he had discovered in the forest disappeared and a powerful and imposing witch took her place. Eyes of steel fixed on his and before he realized what was happening she was pointing her wand at his chest. “How old are you, Regulus Black?” she spat.

Confused at her sudden turn in attitude, Regulus barely stuttered out an answer, “Sixteen.” The girl nodded, eyes still shuttered with that unexpected strength. She flicked her wand and the left sleeve of his robe rose up his forearm to reveal bare flesh.

She exhaled loudly, before saying, almost to herself. “Well, that doesn’t prove anything.” Iris sighed and with her wand still pointing at him she ran her free hand through her thick curls. Seeming to come to a decision, Iris grimaced and said, “Right, Regulus. I am sorry about this but you are going to need to come with me to the Headmaster’s office and you are going to need to make an unbreakable vow.”

Iris thought he was a Death Eater. Or wait, she was from the future. Perhaps, she knew he was or rather would be a Death Eater. Regulus’ heart stilled. He quickly nodded his acquiesce. Regulus understood that the Dark Lord would be interested in someone with knowledge of the future; someone who clearly had power. For Regulus could feel the power coming off of her in waves. Iris Potter was clearly a force to be reckoned with. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who read the prologue and especially to those who left kudos. I am glad you liked it. I hope I've done Regulus justice here. I know he is terribly angsty about his older brother but he is sixteen. Also, I want him to have growth through the story. He is currently a child who grew up in a racist family and is parroting their beliefs. I don't think I would do JKR's character justice if he automatically started supporting muggle-born rights just because Iris dropped into the story. It will be a slow evolution. (Hence the liberal use of mud blood) I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments. Who do you think Regulus saw die?


	3. II.

II.

 _“Don’t you see? Professor McGonagall told me what awful things have happened when wizards have meddled with time… loads of them ended up killing their past or future selves by mistake!”--_ Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban pg. 292

Iris led Regulus Black out of the Forbidden Forest and started the familiar trek towards Hogwarts castle. She was no longer holding him at wand point but her wand was tightly grasped in her fist and she was ready to knock him out at the first indication of trouble. Regulus did not seem as though he was planning to run, instead, he seemed deep in thought. For her part, Iris was trying not to panic. Hermione’s dire warnings about wizards who meddled with time were on a loop in Iris’ brain and she was finding it difficult to focus on her next move. She needed a powerful ally. She needed someone who could smooth her sudden arrival in 1977 and help her determine how to make it back to twenty-one years into the future.

Iris knew who this person would be. She had even tacitly accepted it when she had announced to the stunned Regulus they would be going to the Headmaster’s office. Yet, Iris was finding the idea of again placing blind faith in Albus Dumbledore difficult to swallow. The last time Iris had been in that oval office she had heard the man she had mourned, seen as a mentor, as a comrade in arms plotting her death in cold blood. Iris had understood, on a clinical level, that there was a certain beauty to it: neither could live while the other survived. Despite this, it rankled, having to go to Dumbledore and once again ask, plead, beg for information.

“How old are you?” Regulus’ voice broke through her morbid thoughts.

Iris did not see the harm in telling him and so she replied, “I’m seventeen.”

“Oh.” She glanced sideways at Regulus to catch him examining her and raised an eyebrow. Surprisingly, Regulus blushed before continuing in a muted tone. “You just seem older than that.”

“I feel older than that,” Iris replied lightly and the pair began to climb the stone staircase outside the main front doors. Iris could feel the sharp pain in her middle, making it difficult to take a full breath. She decided it must be broken ribs and thought a trip to the Hospital Wing would not be remiss. Iris knew she must look terrible, covered sweat, blood and various unknown substances. Because of this, Iris knew she ought to be glad that they had yet to encounter another student but the unusual quiet was making it difficult to feel grounded. Iris half expected that at any moment someone would jump out from behind a tapestry calling, “Only joking, you are dead!”

She looked back at Regulus who was still watching her with something akin to pity on his handsome features. “What’s the date, Black?” Iris asked sharply.

Regulus appeared taken aback by her harsher voice or perhaps the use of his surname. “September 17th. A Saturday. Term started two weeks ago,” he answered in a brusque tone, his words clipped.

Iris nodded and turned down the hallway, which lead to the stone gargoyle that stood sentinel in front of Dumbledore’s office. Iris squared her shoulders and directed her next sentence at the gargoyle, “We’re here to see Dumbledore.”

“Bully for you,” replied the gargoyle in deep sarcasm.

Regulus glanced at her before trying, “I think the Headmaster would want to meet with her.”

The gargoyle looked on unaffected. “No password. No entry.”

“Brilliant,” Iris grossed. She made eye contact with Regulus and muttered, “It’s a sweet. Dumbledore generally makes his password some kind of sweet.” 

Regulus looked bemused at this new information, but as a whole, seemed willing to accept that the time traveler had intimate knowledge of Albus Dumbledore’s password tendencies. “Lemon drop… Chocolate Frog… Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans… Ice Mice…” Iris began to reel off before looking harshly at Regulus. “Come on, _help_ me.”

The look he leveled at her seemed to indicate exactly what he thought of the idea of helping the person who had lead him to the Headmaster’s office under an implied threat of violence after almost, but not quite, accusing him of membership in a terrorist group. Regulus appeared to sense her rising frustration and in a move that was deeply reminiscent of his brother, he crossed his arms across his chest leaning his back against the wall next to the gargoyle and smirked.

Right… Iris was on her own. Well. Nothing new there. She racked her brains before turning back to the gargoyle and named a few more sweets before finally at “Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum” the gargoyle jumped aside with an aggrieved “At last!”

The spiral staircase leading up to the Headmaster’s office appeared in front of them and Iris paused. She glanced back at Regulus and took comfort in his quiet presence before beginning the steep climb. Iris knew she shouldn’t feel comfortable around Regulus Black. He might not be a Death Eater yet but he certainly supported Voldemort. What had Sirius said? He had called Regulus a fan. Said that his brother had collected stories about Tom Riddle and his Death Eaters for years, hoping one day to join their ranks. Despite all of this, Iris could not help but feel glad that he would be with her as she met the first of her ghosts.

At the top of the stairs Iris knocked on the closed door. After a moment she heard the familiar hoarse voice calling for them to enter and her heart skipped a beat. Taking a deep breath, Iris walked into Dumbledore’s office followed closely by Regulus.

Dumbledore was seated behind his desk with his long fingers steepled in front of him. The pose sent a jolt of pain and recognition through Iris, which was thankfully quashed by the next words out of the wizard’s mouth. “Ahh, Mr. Black, lovely to see you. And… perhaps you could introduce me to your young friend?” Iris felt Dumbledore’s penetrating gaze take in her obvious state of disarray and the wand clutched firmly in her right hand.

“She’s not my friend,” Regulus hastened to add. “I found her in the Forbidden Forest. I was…” and there he trailed off, clearly not wanting to admit to the reason he was out of bounds.

“Oh, I see. I trust your research on our thestral herd has been successful?” Dumbledore asked, a touch of his typical geniality creeping into his tone.

Regulus started; clearly surprised that Dumbledore knew he had been researching thestrals, before muttering, “Yeah… I suppose.”

“Not to worry, my dear boy.” Dumbledore smiled wanly at Regulus. “I am sure that if you asked, Hagrid would be more than happy to show them to you. Incidentally, I was sorry to hear about your Uncle Alphard. A wonderful snooker player.”

Regulus appeared at a loss as to how best to respond, so, he simply nodded. Dumbledore, not appearing to want to continue the conversation further returned his attention to Iris, who was forcibly reminded of the Dumbledore who spoke with Tom Riddle about the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts rather than the man with whom she had spent many hours in quiet conference. “And so, we have learned that you are not, despite appearances, Mr. Black’s friend,” Dumbledore stated in a deceptively mild tone. “I must ask, therefore, who you are and how you managed to gain access to Hogwarts grounds?”

Iris swallowed, hoping to wet her dry mouth, before starting. “Professor Dumbledore,” she could not look at him and felt her eyes inexorably drawn to Fawkes the phoenix as she sought a friendly face. Clearing her throat again, Iris continued. “Professor Dumbledore, my name is Iris Potter. I am the only daughter of James and Lily Potter. I was… fighting in a battle against the Death Eaters in May of 1998 and was hit by the Killing Curse. I woke up in the forest and thought I was dead. I met Regulus Black, who soon told me that it was twenty years in the past.” Iris fell silent and was finally able to refocus her gaze on Dumbledore. He looked, Iris couldn’t help but think gratifyingly, flabbergasted.

After a beat of silence both men spoke at once. Regulus said “The Killing Curse,” in a slightly choked voice, looking at Iris eyes wide.

Dumbledore asked in a much more measured tone, “Can you prove your story, Miss Potter?”

Iris gave Regulus what she hoped was a reassuring look before turning to Dumbledore and nodding. “Do you have your pensive, Professor? I really don’t like legilimency.”

Dumbledore rose from his desk and walked quickly to the cabinet in which the pensive was stored. He placed the stone basin on his desk and gestured for Iris to add her memories. Iris raised Draco’s wand to her temple and extracted a long silvery thread of memory before dumping it into the basin. Regulus shuffled forward to stand beside her, close enough for her to feel his body heat and Dumbledore waved his wand over the surface of the pensive. An older Dumbledore rose from the silvery substance and began to speak.

 _“Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort.”_ Beside her Regulus drew in a harsh breath.

 _“The Ministry of Magic,” Dumbledore continued, “does not wish me to tell you this. It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I have done so – either because they will not believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, or because they think I should not tell you so, young as you are. It is my belief, however, that the truth is generally preferable to lies, and that any attempt to pretend that Cedric died as the result of an accident, or some sort of blunder of his own, is an insult to his memory.”_ Iris closed her eyes, remembering, once again, that graveyard and Cedric’s body falling to the ground.

_“There is somebody else who must be mentioned in connection with Cedric’s death,” Dumbledore went on. “I am talking, of course, about Iris Potter.”_

_“Iris Potter managed to escape Lord Voldemort,” said Dumbledore. “She risked her own life to return Cedric’s body to Hogwarts. She showed, in every respect, the sort of bravery that few wizards have ever shown in facing Lord Voldemort, and for this, I honor her.”_

The Dumbledore behind the desk returned his appraising gaze to Iris while the Dumbledore inside the basin continued preaching the need for unity and forbearance in the light of Voldemort’s return.

The older Dumbledore’s speech drew to a close as he called for the audience to _“Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory.”*_

The Dumbledore in the basin slowly dissolved back into the swirling mists of memory. The real Dumbledore slowly lowered himself back into his chair and gestured for Iris and Regulus to do the same. “Thank you for sharing that memory, Miss Potter,” Dumbledore said, “I believe that you are from a version of the future.”

Iris felt relief flow through her. She glanced up and met Dumbledore’s blue eyes and suddenly she was falling. Iris tried to fight it. She tried to empty her mind. She couldn’t, she had always been terrible at occlumency. Her memories began flickering before her like a film reel.

She was thirteen and watching as Sirius yelled at Wormtail, _“THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED! DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!”**_

She was sixteen and unable to move as Severus Snape bore down on Dumbledore, wand pointed at the old man’s chest and hatred in his beetle black eyes.

She was seventeen and listening to Draco lie to Bellatrix Lestrange, “That’s not Potter!” and he spared a disgusted look at her huddled and jinxed form. “I _know_ Potter and that’s not her.”

She was seventeen and walking through the Forbidden Forest. She was clutching her head and she could hear Regulus babbling in the background, asking Professor Dumbledore to stop but the memory was too strong. She was in the clearing and Voldemort was smiling, his red eyes glittering with triumph. “Iris Potter, The Girl Who Lived.” Iris did not move. She did not raise Draco’s wand. “ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

And suddenly, Iris was black in Dumbledore’s office. She had slid onto the floor, panting. Dumbledore was still seated at his desk looking concerned and slightly apologetic. Regulus was glancing between the two of them, seemingly at a loss as to what had just happened. Iris stood up, still unable to catch her breath. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she spoke directly to Dumbledore. “You don’t have any context to those memories.”

“I am sorry,” he replied, suddenly sounding as old and tired as he had her sixth year, “But, I had to be sure that you wouldn’t help Tom.” Dumbledore sighed.

“I would _never_ help Voldemort.” Iris retorted vehemently.

“I know that now,” Dumbledore replied evenly and gestured at the chintz armchair she had vacated. “Please sit down. It appears we have much to discuss.”

“I’m sorry but WHAT just happened?” Regulus broke in looking exasperated and slightly frightened.

“Mr. Black, I do apologize,” Dumbledore replied with an airy wave of his hand. “Miss Potter and I have been inexcusably rude. Won’t you forgive us?” When Regulus nodded slightly at Dumbledore’s pause the Headmaster continued. “I was merely verifying certain particulars of Miss Potter’s story. It is rather remarkable, twenty years into the future. I still looked rather spry, don’t you think, Mr. Black?”

Regulus made an odd grunting noise that could have been agreement and Dumbledore continued unbothered. “Well, Miss Potter the question remains… what to do with you? You cannot return to your future. You simply being here and meeting Mr. Black has already changed the course of events. I do not believe he will become the same man he would have been had he never met a beautiful traveler in a dark and lonely wood.” Dumbledore smiled at Iris, the familiar twinkle back in his light blue eyes. Regulus glanced at Dumbledore before surveying Iris with a frankly appraising stare.

I can’t go back?” gasped Iris. “But, Sir. Terrible things happen to wizards that meddle with time. I have to back!”

Dumbledore smiled sadly at Iris. “My dear girl, who’s to say you’d have anything to go back to?”

“But Voldemort! We have to kill him. _I_ have to kill him,” Iris interjected. 

“I am afraid, Miss Potter, there is nothing I can do,” Dumbledore replied calmly. “Your body has most likely perished in that time, the killing curse acting as a conduit for your time travel but also making it impossible for you to continue your life in that time. Should you wish to join the fight against Voldemort here, we can discuss that privately at a later date.” He looked meaningfully at Regulus who was now picking at a thread on his robes, face scrunched in confusion. So Professor Dumbledore did not trust Regulus either, perhaps knew of Regulus’ sympathies towards Voldemort and the Death Eaters. In that moment, Iris could not help but hope that Dumbledore was correct and that Regulus’ life would be different from the one he had known, or would have known. 

“For now, we should discuss what you will do,” Dumbledore continued calmly. “Do you wish to come to school? I can enroll you. Do you wish to leave Hogwarts? I can arrange accommodations at the Hogs Head.”

Iris sat for a minute. She would not be going home. Dumbledore could not, or would not, help her go home and she was not naïve enough to think she could accomplish it without the great wizard’s help. She would never see Ron or Hermione or the Weasleys again. Viciously wiping under her eyes, Iris looked back at Dumbledore. “I’ll stay here,” she said quietly. “I never got to attend my seventh year.”

“Wonderful.” Dumbledore clapped. “I will announce you as a new student tomorrow morning and you will have a day to settle in before you attend class. Perhaps best if we sort you now, in private. Would you mind?” Dumbledore directed this last bit at the sorting hat sitting on a shelf in the corner appearing for all the world to be asleep.

“Not at all, Professor Dumbledore,” replied the hat in silken tones.

Before Iris could object, Dumbledore placed the dirty hat on her head. She heard a wry voice say, “Ahhh, this is more interesting than the average eleven year old.”

“I should hope so,” Iris replied dryly.

“Plenty of courage… Not as hapless as your pretend to be either… And what’s this? Drive, a desperate need to prove you are better than Lord Voldemort. Stronger than him. I think I know where to put you…. Should have listened to me the first time….SLYTHERIN!” and the hat called the last word out to Dumbledore.

Iris sighed and pulled the hat off her head. As she was doing so the hat continued, “And fix her ribs, Dumbledore. The girl is in pain.”

Dumbledore looked surprised but with a sharp flick of his wrist and a soft snapping noise Iris felt her body relax. “My dear girl, you should have said something.” Dumbledore admonished.

Iris shared a look with Regulus and rolled her eyes. The young man turned to the Headmaster and spoke for the first time in awhile. “Professor, if Iris is going to attend Hogwarts, perhaps she ought to change her surname?” Regulus scratched the back of his neck in an awkward gesture. “It’s rather well known that the Potters are a small family and that surname might lead to… unnecessary questions.”

Dumbledore looked at Regulus over his half moon spectacles before nodding in agreement and Iris felt herself deflate. It was silly, Iris knew. She had spent so many years wishing she wasn’t Iris Potter. Still, her name was one of the few things that had always been hers and it was a wrench to part with it. “Granger,” she said quickly before Regulus or Dumbledore could make the decision for her. It felt nice to carry some piece of her friends into her new life. “I’ll be Iris Granger. A half-blood, whose witch mother home schooled her before her and her muggle father were killed by Death Eaters.”

Dumbledore smiled sadly, “Welcome to Hogwarts, Miss Granger,” He said softly before continuing. “I’ll arrange a meeting with Horace Slughorn, the Head of Slytherin House tomorrow. You can discuss your desired class schedule with him.”

Iris suddenly felt uncomfortable. She hadn’t needed to rely on others since she was eleven and had discovered the pile of gold her parents had left her under London, but now she could almost hear Aunt Petunia’s caustic voice reminding her that she was, once again, the poor orphan dependent on the kindness of others. “Professor Dumbledore, I haven’t any money to buy books and clothes.”

When Iris looked up she noticed Regulus uncomfortably examining his cuticles. Iris knew, better than most, the riches in the Black family’s coffers. Regulus had never known the burning shame of wanting something that you knew you could never have. Dumbledore cleared this throat before looking kindly at Iris. “Miss Potter, there is a fund at Hogwarts to help those who need it.”

“Thank you, sir,” Iris replied shamefacedly.

“I’ll help,” Regulus cut in before she could continue. Iris quickly cut her eyes to Regulus to see that he was determinedly not looking at her but staring at the Headmaster. Regulus softly coughed before continuing, “I mean—” He cut off and swiftly glanced at her before returning his gaze to Dumbledore and appearing to gain confidence. “I inherited a little money from my uncle. Most went to my brother, but the Hogwarts money will only pay for some of what you need. You don’t have any clothes or anything. I can help.”

Iris suddenly felt very hot all over. “Regulus, I can’t ask you to do this.”

“Well, you didn’t. I offered," he replied in a gentle voice, looking her in the eyes, the light grey of his irises reminding her painfully of her godfather. “Besides, your family has been looking after my brother for years now,” he continued in a harsher tone, his voice becoming more clipped with each word. “It would be poor repayment to your grandparents if I let you rely solely on the Hogwarts fund. The clothes those charity students wear are ghastly.”

Dumbledore made a sudden move behind the desk and Iris unwillingly pulled her gaze from Regulus to look at the Headmaster. Dumbledore was looking at the two students with a soft light in his bright blue eyes. “Very well,” Dumbledore said. “For now,” and with a flick of his wand Iris’ muggle clothes were transformed into an old fashioned uniform complete with a Slytherin tie. “That should last you a few days while you order some more.” Dumbledore glanced at the clock before returning his gaze to Iris, “It seems time has been making fools of us again. Bed, I think. Mr. Black, I trust you can show Miss Granger your common room?” Regulus nodded and Dumbledore went on. “I shall have the House elves arrange accommodations. If I am not much mistaken, there should be a new room already. Salazar was exceedingly clever….” Dumbledore stood and for a moment Iris was caught in his blue stare once again. “Iris, your servant.”

The two students left the Headmaster’s office and slowly made their way down to the Slytherin accommodations exchanging very little in the way of conversation. It wasn’t until Iris lay down to sleep that she remembered that she had forgotten to make Regulus swear an unbreakable vow not to tell anyone she was from the future. Iris rolled over. She could do it tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Taken from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire  
> **Taken from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban 
> 
> Chapter two! It's a bit longer than the first chapter and there is a lot in the way of background information. I know making Iris a Slytherin is rather cliche but I needed a way for her to maintain a relationship with Regulus whilst entering the same year as her parents. I plan to give her a few more Slytherin character traits than cannon Harry, so hopefully it doesn't seem too plot device-y. What did you think of my Dumbledore? He is a very intimidating character to write and I think that Iris would be a little more hacked off with him than Harry was at the end of book 7. She didn't get a ghostly talk in Kings Cross. Thank you to everyone who commented, left kudos, and bookmarked. Did you like Iris' POV? I am very keen to hear your thoughts!


	4. III.

III.

 _“Not Slytherin, eh? said a small voice. Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it’s all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that…”_ –Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone pg. 121

Regulus sat at the Slytherin table the third Monday of term and contemplated all that had changed with the sudden arrival of Iris Granger in his life. Dumbledore’s announcement that the seventh years were gaining a new student had sent shock waves through the student body and yesterday Iris was beset with curious classmates. Surprisingly, Iris seemed to gravitate towards Regulus and had barely left his side for the past twenty-four hours outside a meeting with Slughorn and McGonagall, from which she had returned in a painfully subdued mood. Regulus had coaxed the older girl into helping him with his homework and had found, much to his surprise, that she seemed to be fairly proficient in Potions. It was Defense Against the Dark Arts, however, where she really seemed to shine. Regulus had been practicing the physical shield charm, used to block hexes and jinxes too powerful for a simple _protego_ , and Iris had with a few casual comments helped him to master the spell nonverbally and produce a brick wall, which she claimed would stop a weaker unforgivable.

There was a clatter to Regulus’ left and he pulled his mind from thoughts of Iris to see the lanky body and dark hair of Eamon Travers. “Hey Reg,” Eamon said cheerfully reaching for the platter of kippers. “Where’s your shadow?”

“Shadow?” Regulus parroted, playing for time.

“The new girl, Granger something, isn’t it?” Alvin Rowle put in from his seat diagonally across from Regulus.

Regulus hummed taking a careful sip of his pumpkin juice. “Professor Slughorn asked me to show her around,” he calmly replied.

“Yeah? But why you?” Eamon asked looking curious. “Snape’s the prefect for her year, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, and we all know Severus likes filthy little red heads,” Alvin commented idly, glancing maliciously at Snape who had looked up at the sound of his name. 

Regulus forced out a singularly humorless laugh. “Yes, well, we can’t all charm veela with your panache, Rowle.”

Regulus glanced up to see the blood draining from Rowle’s face. “You promised never to mention that, Black,” he retorted, face twisting in shame.

Regulus merely shrugged his shoulders and looked up at the tawny owl, which was winging its way towards him. The owl dropped its heavy package in Regulus’ lap before immediately taking off. Regulus hastily stuffed the package into his bag to give to Iris later.

As though the owl had summoned the girl in question, Iris slid into the seat to Regulus’ right. Regulus noted that the robes Dumbledore had transfigured were slightly worse for wear, most likely due to repeated cleaning and ironing charms. Iris’ hair, however, was neater than Regulus had yet seen, tamed into a thick braid that was tucked over one shoulder. “Good morning,” she said pleasantly, glancing around. Regulus saw that her eyes seemed to linger on Snape. He wondered whether she knew him in the future. It would make sense. Snape seemed to have a long history with Lily Evans, not that the older boy was willing to discuss it.

Alvin rolled his eyes and disappeared behind this morning’s paper but Eamon reached over Regulus with an outstretched hand and said in his most refined accent, “Eamon Travers, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Iris Granger,” Iris gently grasped the other boy’s hand. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

“Granger, _Granger_ ,” Eamon repeated with emphasis. “I don’t believe I’ve met any Grangers before. Have you, Rowle?”

Iris smiled sweetly at the boy’s transparency. “You know, you sound exactly like Professor Slughorn,” she replied in dangerous tones. “I practically felt I needed to recite my mother’s entire family tree just to sign up for classes. Should I get it printed so that I can hand a copy to each pure-blood who wants to check my pedigree before we interact?”

Eamon chuckled and Regulus released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “No, darling. This way is much better. Besides,” he threw an arm around Regulus’ shoulders. “Anyone that has the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black’s approval is alright by me.”

Alvin made a delicate noise of disbelief but Iris merely smiled tightly at Eamon’s antics. Regulus shrugged out of Eamon’s grasp and navigated the conversation into safer waters, asking “Which classes do you have today, Iris?”

“Transfiguration and double Potions,” she moaned before taking a bite of her toast. Regulus gave her a sympathetic smile, which she returned with a slightly sheepish one of her own before adding in an undertone, “it’s been a year since I’ve been in a classroom. It’ll take some getting used to.”

Iris had been dropping odd hints about her background, which left Regulus increasingly curious about the world from which she had come. Why had she dropped out of school before her seventh year? What had she been doing fighting Death Eaters? Wouldn’t James Potter have protected his daughter? Unable to ask any of his lingering questions here, Regulus contented himself with studying Iris’ bold features. The more time he spent with her the less he thought she resembled either of her parents in anything other than the most superficial ways. Iris had a strength of character that neither Potter nor Evans seemed to possess. She was at once bolder and more contained than her parents. As Regulus was contemplating Iris, he saw her face freeze as she stared straight ahead. Regulus looked around and saw James Potter and Lily Evans approaching the Slytherin table speaking in low voices. Glancing back at Iris he saw naked longing panted on her face for a moment before she rearranged her features into carefully controlled disinterest.

“Hiya,” came the soft northern voice of Lily Evans.* “You’re Iris Granger, right?” Around him, Regulus could hear the grumblings of his fellow classmates’ discontent that a mudblood had come over to their table.

“Hullo,” Iris replied. “Yeah. That’s me.”

“I’m Lily Evans and this, here, is James Potter.”

“Nice to meet you.” Potter smiled before swiftly glancing around, a warning in his eyes.

“James and I are the Heads this year,” Evans continued, seeming not to take notice that everything about her, from her name to her tie, was not welcome here. “We wanted to welcome you to Hogwarts and see you’re settling in alright.”

Iris’ whole face seemed to light up as Evans spoke with her and she nodded quickly in response. “Thanks, that’s good of you.”

“We, gingers, have to stick together,” Evans winked and Iris reached up self consciously to pat her hair.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Listen, Evans, shall we walk Iris up to transfigs?” Potter put in, his eyes now focused on Severus who was watching Lily Evans with something akin to longing on his sallow features.

Evans smiled brightly up at Potter saying, “I wish you’d stop calling me Evans, James.”

Iris was watching her parents with a soft smile on her face as she stood to join them, “Thanks, Lily, James. You can tell me about Professor McGonagall on the way?” The pair broke eye contact and refocused their attention on their daughter, pleased smiles on both faces. Before heading out of the Great Hall, Iris glanced back at Regulus a question in her bright eyes, “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

*

The rest of the week passed in the familiar motions of classes, homework and Quidditch practice. Regulus found that he appreciated Iris’ new presence in his life. She seemed to slot herself into a space that he hadn’t even known was empty. She was quiet, nothing like her loud, chaotic, Gryffindor parents. Iris seemed content mainly to fade into the background. Not that she was meek, no, Iris seemed more than confident when dealing with Alvin’s distain or Eamon’s over the top flirting. It seemed, instead, that Iris preferred to avoid attention. Still, Regulus couldn’t help his interest in her. He didn’t think that it was merely that she was from the future, no, Regulus found himself watching her as they studied together, ate in the Great Hall and sat in the Slytherin common room. The more that Iris folded in on herself, the more Regulus wanted to chase her attention and discover what lay behind her kaleidoscope eyes.

Regulus had, therefore, noticed when she had slipped away hours ago while the common room was abuzz with Friday afternoon chatter. Regulus had assumed that he would see her at dinner but she had never showed. He knew he oughtn’t be worried, not only did Iris most likely know the castle as well as any other Hogwarts student, he assumed that given her father’s marauding tendencies she had been given a detailed schematic of all the secret passage ways before James Potter had shipped her off for first year. Still, Regulus was waiting in the common room for her to return. He had been for hours, covertly glancing at the entrance every thirty minutes or so. His charms homework was strewn across the table in front of him, the prop he had meekly gestured to as his friends had, one by one, left for the comforts of bed.

Regulus was brooding into the embers of the fire, wondering if perhaps he ought to simply go to bed and try to find Iris in the morning, when without warning the common room door burst open and Iris Granger tumbled in a pile of limbs and crazed hair. Regulus stood up, “Where have you been?” he asked, more sharply than he intended.

Iris looked at him, tilting her head, seeming to struggle to focus on him. “Sorry, dad.” She rolled her eyes.

Regulus flushed at her inadvertent reminder that he was old enough to be her father, before telling himself firmly that her father wasn’t even old enough to be her father. Not that it mattered, anyway. He wanted to be _friends_ with Iris. “Not me. He’s upstairs. You know the one, lots of hair, follows your mum around like a puppy,” Regulus replied tartly as Iris unsteadily weaved her way through the room to slump next to him on the divan.

“I think following mum around is more Snape’s thing, to be frank,” Iris said offhandedly. “It’s a bit much, actually. The way he looks at her.” She shivered delicately, “makes me want to take a shower.”

“Yes, well…I’m not sure Severus ever quite got over loosing Evans’ friendship,” Regulus equivocated.

Iris hummed and a guilty look flitted across her features as she stared into the fire. Regulus noticed the high color in her cheeks and the unfocused nature of her eyes.

After a few minutes of silence, Regulus asked again in a much softer tone, “Where did you go tonight?” He softly bumped her shoulder with his own. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you smell a bit like a distillery.”

Iris giggled. Regulus tried to ignore the warm feeling in his chest the noise engendered. “I was on the seventh floor,” she replied vaguely. “Tried playing the hero, then, when that didn’t work out I decided to take some time to contemplate my new life.” She sighed, looking distinctly unhappy.

“That sounds like a terribly Gryffindor way to spend an evening.”

“I was a Gryffindor, you know,” she replied morosely. “In my other life. I was like… chief Gryffindor, or something.”

Regulus was surprised, perhaps, he ought not to have been. Hadn’t she been fighting a war, had even dropped out of school to do the brave, noble, Gryffindor thing and fight for mudbloods and muggles. Still, she seemed to fit so well into Slytherin, so well into his life, that he was struggling to fit this new piece of information into the picture he was building of Iris Granger. “Well,” Regulus replied. “Next time you’re feeling a relapse coming on, bring me with you?” He cautiously glanced at the side of her head. “I’ll remind you that we snakes are supposed to be into self perseveration or… at the very least, I’ll watch your back.” He offered.

Regulus could feel Iris’ gaze burning a hole into the side of his head but he couldn’t bring himself to look at her and was determidly staring at the carpet. “Maybe,” she sighed her hot breath tickling his collar. “But, I’m not supposed to trust you, Regulus Black.” He wasn’t sure he liked the way she said his name. He noticed that she said his full name a lot, almost like she needed to remind herself who his family was. It felt like that she was creating distance between them with every “Black” she uttered.

“I want to trust you,” she peered at him with hopeful eyes. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that unbreakable vow.” He’d been wondering about it. Hoping, really, that she would forget. Not that he wanted to tell anyone about her. He was almost certain that he would never tell her secret, if only, because he didn’t think he could handle seeing the look of disgust she’d worn when she’d thought he might be a Death Eater in the forest. Still, Regulus knew that there might be an instance when he would need a bargaining chip with the Dark Lord. A girl from the future, that would be an ideal bargaining chip. He would be a fool to the throw it away prematurely.

Regulus realized that Iris was probably waiting for a response and so he quickly nodded, thankfully she was too pissed to notice the delay. “I guess, I am not making you do the vow because I think I’d rather like to be your friend. Feels wrong to coerce my friends…” She trailed off before adding bitterly, “Hermione would tell me I trust too easily. I’m like my dad that way.”

Regulus couldn’t help but agree with the unknown Hermione, but he didn’t say that. Instead, he replied lightly, “I don’t know about Hermione but it seems that James Potter inspires a great deal of loyalty. My brother is certainly more loyal to Potter than he ever was to me.”

This didn’t appear to be the right thing to say as Iris expression darkened further, so, he hastened to add, “I’d like to be your friend too, Iris.”

Her face cleared somewhat and her eyes roved over his face. “I’m not sure you do, Regulus,” she replied quietly. “Sirius told me you were a fan of the Dark Lord… I’m not sure you can be my friend and like him.”

Regulus wasn’t sure how to reply. She was right. He did think that the Dark Lord was right. He was trying to reestablish Regulus’ way of life, pure-blood culture was dying off as they continued to mix with mudbloods and muggles. Regulus loved magic. He wanted to protect it. He wanted to do his family proud. Yet, he wasn’t sure he agreed with the Dark Lord’s methods. He didn’t think that witches and wizards like Lily Evans ought to be murdered. He wasn’t like Bellatrix, he didn’t revel in the brutality of it.

Again, he was saved from having to put this into words when Iris spoke, a slightly mocking tone to her voice, “then again maybe you can. I mean, Tom was _obsessed_ with me.” She smirked. 

“What do you mean?” Regulus asked softly.

“It's not important.” Iris waved her hand, brushing the topic to one side. “The important thing is that I am not sure I can trust you, Regulus. R.A.B., though, he I know I could trust.”

“R.A.B.?” Regulus was confused. Those were his initials.

“Yeah,” Iris sighed. “I think I would have liked to have met him. He was terribly brave but I think he was probably sad… and scared. I know I was.” Suddenly, Iris leaned her head on his shoulder. “I think I would have liked to be R.A.B.’s friend.”

Regulus felt the beginnings of jealousy stirring towards R.A.B. He acknowledged this was most likely foolish as he supposed R.A.B. was him, a version of him at least. Regulus was fairly sure, given their conversation in the forest, in Iris’ original timeline Regulus had joined the Death Eaters before leaving school. It would explain her suspicion and it also tracked with mother’s attitude and what Bellatrix and Luicis had been saying over the summer. He would be seventeen in May, legally an adult. Perhaps he took the mark then. Iris’ R.A.B. though, this was a new piece of information. Regulus didn’t think that R.A.B. would have supported the Dark Lord. Iris had called R.A.B. brave. She _admired_ him. Perhaps Regulus had changed his mind, had tried to leave Voldemort’s service… that seemed like exactly the type of foolhardy Gryffindor thing Iris would admire.

Iris nuzzled her head deeper into the hollow between his shoulder and neck. Regulus decided that he wouldn’t worry about R.A.B. and the Dark Lord right now. “I want to be your friend, Iris,” Regulus admitted again. It felt more truthful the second time he said it, not used to manipulate her into trusting him to keep her secrets without a magical noose around his neck.

Iris threaded her fingers through his own and said nothing. They sat for a while taking solace in each other’s presence. Iris was quiet for so long that Regulus thought perhaps she had fallen asleep, but when he glanced down he saw the gold of her eyes glinting in the firelight as she stared into a future he would never know. Regulus reached up with shaking fingers and softly brushed a piece of hair off her face reveling the oddly shaped cut he had noticed in the forest. It was faded now, not raised and inflamed. It looked years old rather than days. “What’s this from?” he asked brushing his thumb over its ridged edges.

Iris made a soft sound in the back of her throat at the contact. “Dark magic. I got it when I was a baby.”

“It was bleeding when you got here.” Regulus argued.

“Was it?” she asked, seeming distinctly disinterested. “Must have been from when it happened. When…” She trailed off but he heard it anyway: ' _when the killing curse hit me, when I died.'_

“It doesn’t usually leave a mark, that curse.” Iris nodded softly against his shoulder. She did not ask how he knew the particulars of the killing curse. He was a Black, he knew. He knew, intimately. A part of him would probably never stop seeing that particular shade of green.

“It leaves a mark, Reg,” Iris disagreed. “Dark magic always leaves a mark. Generally, though, it's in here,” she reached up with her right hand and softly touched his chest over his beating heart.

Iris and Regulus stayed in front of the fire for a long time and he pretended not to notice, as his sleeve steadily grew wetter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * JKR has said that Cokeworth (where Snape and Lily grew up) is in the Midlands, for some reason I've always imagined it somewhat near Liverpool and I think Lily would have a bit of a Scouse accent. I think Petunia would really work to loose her accent in Surrey. 
> 
> Enter James and Lily (and Snape)! Do you feel cheated it wasn't from Iris' perspective? I wanted to do some Iris/Reg bonding so the focus on their classmates to include her parents was a bit abbreviated... I wasn't planning on posting this before the weekend but I have been able to write ahead a bit and I can't reread this again, so, I hope you enjoy. Thank you so much for commenting, bookmarking or leaving kudos. It's really nice to see that people are enjoying it. And I really appreciate hearing your thoughts!


	5. IV.

IV.

 _“It looks like I’m the one who’s got to finish off Voldemort… At least, it says neither of us could live while the other survives.”_ —Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince pg. 97.

Iris had been at Hogwarts for three weeks before Albus Dumbledore deigned to reply to her repeated attempts to contact him. Iris was seated next to Regulus at the Slytherin table idly listening to him debate Slytherin’s chances for the Quidditch cup when a large barn owl landed in her pumpkin juice before sticking out a leg. Regulus cut off mid sentence and eyed the rolled piece of parchment curiously. He knew that Iris had no one outside Hogwarts to send her mail and was obviously wondering how to best to pump her for information. Ignoring the dark haired boy, Iris stuffed the letter into her bag, having instantly recognized Dumbledore’s spidery handwriting.

Regulus shook his head like a dog trying to rid himself of fleas and returned his attention to Rowle and Travers. Iris shoved the last bite of toast into her mouth and stood hastily grabbing her bag. She hurried out of the Great Hall and up the flights of stairs into the Defence classroom. Iris sunk into a desk and pulled out Dumbledore’s note.

_Dear Iris,_

_I would like to meet with you to discuss in more detail the matters, which we spoke of a few weeks ago. Kindly come to my office at 8 PM this evening. I hope you are enjoying Hogwarts._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_P.S. I have recently developed a taste for Fudge Flies._

Iris leaned back in her chair relieved. It seemed that Dumbledore was finally ready to confront the advantages of having a time traveler with unique knowledge of how to win the war against Voldemort fall into his lap. Iris was going to make sure that this time her parents and Regulus lived to see their thirties. She would save all those brave men and women Moody had shown her in the photo of the original Order of the Phoenix even if that meant that she had to strangle Voldemort with her bare hands.

Iris contemplated telling Dumbledore about the Horcruxes. A year ago, Iris would have told Dumbledore everything she knew without hesitation but the long months Iris had spent searching for bits of Voldemort’s soul with Ron and Hermione had fostered a seed of resentment towards the great wizard. Dumbledore had sent them on a suicide mission barely armed with clues and theories and then had expected her to walk to her death on the word of the man who had not only betrayed her parents to Voldemort but had also killed Professor Dumbledore. Iris knew that they had only managed as well as they did because she had kept her connection to Voldemort open, something that Dumbledore had long counseled against, and sheer dumb luck. If they had not come across Snape and Voldemort in the Shrieking Shack, Iris would not have known that she was a horcrux, would not have walked to her death in the forest, would not have traveled twenty years into the past…

Iris had not noticed the classroom filling up around her until Remus Lupin sat down in the seat beside her. Pushing thoughts of Dumbledore and Voldemort aside she smiled at the boy trying not to picture his broken body laid out in the Great Hall next to his wife. Remus stuck out a hand. “Remus Lupin.”

“I know who you are, Remus. I’m not that new.” Iris smiled shaking the proffered hand.

“I know,” he blushed. “I just think it must be tough to come to Hogwarts your seventh year. Everyone has their friends and…” Remus trailed off looking uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” Iris replied. “You’re right. That was rude of me.”

“It's alright,” Remus said easily. “The truth is that I needed to get away from James and Lily.” He grimaced. “I mean, I’m happy for him. James has been chasing after Lily for years and they’ve only just started going out… but it’s a lot.” Remus finished delicately, and Iris glanced over his shoulder at the couple that seemed lost in their own world. James was curling a strand of Lily’s red hair around his finger and gazing at her while she spoke animatedly.

“I get it.” Iris chuckled. “My best friends, they were crazy for each other. Took forever to admit it but when they did it always felt like they’d rather be alone in a dark room.” Iris smiled sadly, it hurt to think about Ron and Hermione. “Anyway, why aren’t you sitting with Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew? They’re your mates, right?”

“Yeah, they’re great.” Remus straightened his quill. “But they’ve spent all morning discussing how best to regain James’ attentions.” He rolled his eyes at this idea. “And, anyway, Lily mentioned this was your favorite class. It’s mine too. I thought it might be nice to work together…” He trailed off, possibly uncomfortable with the idea of making friends with a Slytherin.

“Thanks, Remus. I’d like that.” Iris smiled and watched as some of the tension bled from his features.

Iris was touched that her mother had mentioned her to Remus. Lily probably felt a certain amount of responsibility towards her as the Head Girl but Iris hoped that she also enjoyed the time they had spent together. Since the first day when James and Lily had walked her to her first class, Lily had made a point to sit next to her in Charms and Herbology and the two had struck up a tentative friendship. Iris missed Ron and Hermione terribly. This had been the longest she had gone without hearing from one of them since the disastrous summer before her second year and she often found herself noting things to tell them only to realize that she couldn’t anymore. Her sorting into Slytherin did not help her feelings of loneliness. Iris noticed that the majority of her classmates in Slytherin gave her a wide berth either because she was a half-blood or due to her friendship with Regulus. There also seemed to be even fewer interhouse friendships now than in her time. Iris hoped that she could build friendships with her parents and their friends. She desperately missed her godfather and her Remus. Even if they weren’t yet the men she had known she hoped to get to know the boys they were today.

There was a bang at the back of the classroom and Professor Dearborn brusquely made his way to the front of room. The room quieted immediately, Dearborn was one of those instructors who had the ability to hold the attention of his students without effort. The large man flicked his wand and an enlarged picture of today’s edition of _The Daily Prophet_ was projected onto the black board.

“Who read today’s paper?” Several hands went up around the room and Dearborn surveyed the students. “Can anyone tell me what this morning’s headline was about?”

Many of the hands around the room dropped back into their laps but Lily’s, Remus’ and to Iris’ surprise Snape’s remained airborne. “Yes, Miss Evans?” Dearborn called.

“Well, it was about the Ministry reporting an uptick in confirmed instances of the _Imperius_ curse and advice as to how to spot someone under its control.”

“Thank you, Miss Evans, a succinct and accurate summation. Take five points to Gryffindor. That leads nicely into what I was hoping to discuss with you today.” Dearborn flicked his wand again and the projection disappeared, another flick and the chalk rose to begin writing ‘The Unforgivable Curses’ on the board. “The Unforgivables, can anyone tell me why they are referred to as such…. Yes, Mr. Lupin.”

“The use of any of the curses is punishable by a lifetime sentence to Azkaban, sir.” Remus answered and Iris couldn’t stop herself glancing over to where Sirius sat next to Peter Pettigrew.

“Thank you, Mr. Lupin.” Dearborn strode around his desk and leaned against the hardwood. “Now, given the difficult times in which we live the Ministry has been seeing an uptick not only in the _Imperius_ curse as Miss Evans so kindly explained but in all three curses. It is important for you to understand not only what each of these curses do but also how best to combat against them should you encounter them outside a classroom environment.” Iris was reminded of the similar lesson Barty Crouch, Jr. gave in her fourth year. Dearborn clearly did not have the same bloodlust as Crouch and she found herself hoping that they would not be subjected to a similar demonstration of the curses.

“Alright, who can tell me what the _Imperius_ curse does?” Several students raised their hands again and Dearborn finally called out, “Mr. Snape.”

“The caster is allotted complete control over the actions of the victim. One could make a person act however you desire.” Snape responded, his speech was imbibed with her old professor’s passion of the dark arts and Iris remembered the delicious rush of control when she had used the curse against Bogrod during their Gringotts break in.

“Correct. Take five points for Slytherin.” Dearborn nodded approvingly. “Who can name another unforgivable?”

“The _Cruciatus_ curse, sir,” Mulciber added in a lilting voice his eyes on Lily, the only muggleborn student in the room. Iris couldn’t help but notice James’ arm tighten around the back of her chair and Remus stiffen beside her.

“Yes, Mr. Mulciber. That is correct. In future please raise your hand in my classroom,” Dearborn reprimanded lightly. “The _Cruciatus_ causes unbearable pain. Prolonged exposure to the curse can result in permanent damage to the faculties,” the professor continued with a look of distaste. “That brings us to the final curse. Who can name that one? Mr. Pettigrew?”

Iris did not turn to look at Peter. She did not hear his squeaky voice as he gave the answer. She could feel the blood rushing to her head and instead, she heard a Voldemort’s voice call _“Kill the Spare”*_ , saw the slash of Wormtail’s wand Cedric falling dead at her feet.

Iris was clenching the sides of her chair, the urge to curse Wormtail pumping through her veins when she heard, as though from a long distance, a voice call: “Miss Granger… Miss Granger, I asked you a question.”

“Sorry,” Iris said, her voice hoarse.

“Please tell the class what _Avada Kedavra_ does, Miss Granger,” Dearborn said, evidently repeating himself.

“Oh…” Iris said, mouth dry. “It’s the killing curse. It causes instant death. It's painless, the wand movement is in the shape of a lightening bolt, the curse is a bright emerald green, no one ever survived if he decided to use it against them…” Iris trailed off and looked up to see the whole class staring at her with expressions of discomfort on their faces.

Professor Dearborn cleared his throat. “Yes, thank you, Miss Granger. Take five points for Slytherin.” Iris reached up absentmindedly to brush her scar. “Well class, who can tell me how best to combat the _Imperius_ curse?” Dearborn continued.

*

After lunch Iris headed up to the library to work on her protean charm for Flitwick. It was in moments like these that she missed her bushy haired friend’s constant perfectionism. She remembered fondly her classmates awe at Hermione’s mastery of Protean Charms for the gold galleons they used in the D.A. Flitwick had gone over the spell in class during her second week in the past but she was still struggling to master it. It seemed to take an extreme amount of effort to force Draco’s wand to complete the intricate wand movement. She had completely given up attempting the spell nonverbally. Once Iris reached the library, she pulled out her Charms textbook and began to read the section on protean charms.

_‘Protean Charms are a type of Advectus Charms, used to mirror the changes made to a single entity onto other objects linked through the charm. Protean Charms can be as simple as developing copies of the master object that automatically reflect any changes made to the master but the more advanced castor can use a protean charm to develop an interactive and real time communication device using the Pentium dual theory. When performing the incantation for Protean Charms it is important to…’_

Real time communications devices, Iris wondered if that was what James and Sirius had used to created their paired mirrors. It was really advanced magic. She knew, of course, that her father and his friends were skilled wizards. They had become animagi in their fifth year, sometimes, though, it was shocking to learn that her father had apparently been accomplished in magic that even Hermione had yet to master.

“Hey, Iris.” She glanced up from her perusal of the desk to see the friendly face of Remus Lupin standing over her. “Mind if we join you?”

Iris smiled and quickly shook her head. Remus and Lily promptly took the other seats at Iris’ table. “We wanted to catch up with you,” Lily said kindly.

“Sorry?” Iris asked.

“It's just… you seemed a little uncomfortable in Defence,” Put in Remus, glancing at Lily for support.

Lily paused. Then, “Professor Dumbledore mentioned to James and I that you had gone through something traumatic recently,” Lily said delicately, not quite meeting Iris’ eyes. “Of course, I don’t want to pry.”

“That’s alright, Lily,” Iris said. “It's ok if you told Remus too. I know you are friends but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t share this with everyone else.”

Lily quickly shook her head. “I wouldn’t, I swear.” Remus nodded his agreement.

“Thanks,” Iris said, deliberately not giving any more information. “I guess the class was kind of rough, yeah. It's hard when you’ve seen dark magic up close.” ‘ _And felt it used against you’,_ Iris added in her head but did not say aloud.

“Yeah, I can understand that,” Remus said absently rubbing a scar on his neck.

Iris wondered if he was thinking about the wolf and awkwardly fiddled with her textbook. Remus and Lily exchanged uncomfortable glances before Lily looked at the textbook in front of Iris. “Oh, you’re still having trouble with Protean charms, are you?” She asked, inexpertly changing the subject. “You should talk to Sirius. He’s right clever with charms.”

“Thanks, Lily. Maybe, I will,” Iris answered. “What do you guys say to working on McGonagall’s essay? It’s going to take me rather longer than your friends, Remus. They all seem brilliant at transfiguration.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Lily groused. “I’m horrible at Transfiguration,” but she started to take out her books anyway.

“I thought James was giving you private lessons, Lily,” Remus replied cheekily.

Lily blushed spectacularly. “Shut it.” Remus and Iris laughed softly before turning their attention to their homework.

*

At promptly eight o’clock that evening, Iris found herself outside Dumbledore’s office. She knocked and was told to enter. Iris did, still not entirely sure how much she intended to share with the Headmaster. Iris did not think he would use leglimency against her again, however, she knew that if he did, she would be powerless to stop his attempt. Dumbledore was seated behind his desk, a spindly sliver instrument placed in front of him. He was waving his wand over the instrument and small particles, which shimmered like mercury floated in the air around the instrument. The particles suddenly coalesced into the shape of a roaring lion before dissolving and reforming again into a stooped wizard with a peaked hat. The particles finally fell back into the basin of the silvery instrument and Dumbledore murmured, “What souls are made of.” **

Dumbledore turned his attention to Iris, who could was wondering how Dumbldore could possibly have realized that Voldemort had split his soul into Horcruxes so soon. Before she could ask the question, however, Dumbledore spoke, “Miss Granger, thank you for coming this evening. How have you been acclimating to Hogwarts?”

“It’s been good. Thank you, sir. Slytherin has taking some getting used to but it's nice to see my parents and Sirius and Remus,” Iris replied.

“Oh, were you not in Slytherin during your tenure here?” Dumbledore asked.

“Uh…no. I was Gryffindor, sir.”

“I see.” Dumbledore smiled. “Well, perhaps given your parents, it's best that you did not return to your old house. Regardless, your teachers have reported that you are settling back into classes with ease. Professor Slughorn, in particular, speaks very highly of you. You know, I sometimes think we sort too soon… perhaps, Slytherin was where you were always meant to be,” Dumbledore mused.

Iris was uncomfortable with the thought. She was a Gryffindor, no matter what the hat said. She had pulled the sword of Gryffindor out of the sorting hat in her second year. Dumbledore, himself, said that only a true Gryffindor would have been able to call Godric’s sword to them. “Yes, sir…” She replied. “But sir, I wanted to talk to you about Voldemort.”

“Certainly, my dear girl. You’ll forgive an old man his eccentricities,” Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling.

“Not so old, sir,” Iris mumbled.

“Yes…Well, I do suppose you’ve known me older.” Dumbledore nodded sagely. “What is it about Voldemort you wished to discuss with me?” he asked.

Iris paused, unsure how to begin. Dumbledore, seeming to take her silence as recrimination, continued, “Ahh, yes, Miss Granger. I really ought to apologize. When last we spoke, I trespassed most egregiously into your memories.”

Iris kicked the floor softly with her foot before replying, “It's ok, sir… I understand. I wouldn’t have trusted me either. I just have… bad experiences with other people going through my head.” 

Dumbledore gave her a sympathetic look. “It did appear as though you’ve had numerous encounters with Lord Voldemort and his followers in your young life, Iris.”

“Errr… yeah. I guess you could say that.” Dumbledore looked at her expectantly while Iris attempted, once more, to organize her thoughts. This had been what she wanted for over a year: Dumbledore sitting before her, ready to talk with her about Voldemort and his Horcruxes. It was only now, that she was sitting in front of the great wizard, did Iris realize that this was not the Dumbledore she with whom wanted to speak. This man had not yet spent years delving into the tortured past of Tom Riddle searching for Horcruxes, this man had not calmly orchestrated his own murder, this man had not promised to tell Iris everything while withholding the cardinal truth of the prophesy.

Dumbledore looked on, not saying anything, while Iris racked her brain for something to say. Finally, blurting, “Tell me about Grindelwald.”

Dumbledore looked surprised and then frowned. “Gellert? I haven’t talked about him in years.”

“Your brother, Aberforth, he told me you were friends. That he killed your sister,” Iris said.

“Oh? So, you know Aberforth too?” Dumbledore replied evenly. He did not look angry but Iris had not missed the flash of pain at the mention of Ariana. She wasn’t sure that Dumbledore was going to explain the relationship with the dark wizard that had hurt her so much, when he began to speak. “When I was a young man, caught up in my own cleverness, I came to know Gellert. He was living in the same town where I had returned to take care of my brother and sister when my mother died.” Dumbledore glanced over at Fawkes, appearing to take comfort in the beautiful bird. “We became close. I felt stifled by my family and my new responsibilities. Gellert and I spoke often of grand plans and goals to remake society. I admit, I was wholly enchanted by him, by our great ideas.” Dumbledore sighed. “And then, Aberforth needed to return to Hogwarts. He came to me and told me that I needed to focus on caring for our sister. We fought. Gellert, he was quite proficient in the dark arts, even then… Gellert joined in the fight… Ariana tried to help Aberforth. She was sickly…she was confused.”

Dumbledore was quiet for a long moment and Iris was not sure he would finish the story. A single tear fell down his aged cheek and into the beard that was so much shorter than it had been in her time. “I do not know who hit her, but Ariana fell. Gellert, who was already in trouble in his own country for dark magic, fled. I did not see him for many years. Not until we dueled. It was then, however, that I knew I could not be trusted with power over other people’s lives. That I could not be trusted with the dark arts.”

Iris did not say anything. She felt uncomfortable forcing Dumbledore to share such a terrible memory. Yet, she also understood that he had not been entirely honest, either with her or with himself. Her eyes were drawn to the wand in Dumbledore’s slender fingers. The elder wand, it was inexorable proof, was it not, that Dumbledore still chased power. He chased The Hallows. Sitting there, Iris could feel the pull of the great wand. She felt the desire to claim it as her own coursing through her, however, Iris did not reach out and snatch the wand from between his fingers. Dumbledore, it seemed, did not have that same self-control. He had taken the cloak from her father, leaving them unprotected in Godric’s Hollow. He had been entranced by the Gaunt ring, causing his own death. Should Iris tell Dumbledore everything and once again send him on the path of Hallows and Horcruxes?

“Thank you for telling me that story, Professor Dumbledore,” Iris replied at last. “It probably wasn’t clear in my memories but you and I were closer than I think is typical for student and headmaster. I have been embroiled in the fight against Voldemort, a fight you led, for a long time. After you died… I learned of your _closeness_ with Grindelwald,” Iris phrased delicately. “I guess, I struggled to understand how you could watch me fight a dark lord when, when you were my age you were friends with one.”

Dumbledore nodded sadly, looking tired. “It is one of the greatest regrets of my life. Not my friendship with Gellert… No. I could never regret love. I regret that I could not save him and, in turn, I could not save my sister.”

Iris appreciated Dumbledore’s frankness. She wasn’t sure, however, that she thought he regretted the right things. You could not save a dark lord. That was the mistake Dumbledore seemed determined to make time and again. He stood back and watched as Grindelwald implemented his grand design, slaughtering thousands of muggles in the process. He let Tom Riddle roam the halls of Hogwarts, knowing he killed Myrtle. Dumbledore only ever got involved at the last minute, preferring when others stepped in to carry the burden. He had done so with the Horcruxes, had he not? Dumbledore had allowed Snape to kill him, leaving Iris to do the job alone. Iris could not tell Dumbledore about the Horcruxes. It was her job to complete. It did not matter that the Dumbledore who had given her the job did not exist yet. It didn’t even matter prophecy did not yet exist. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had never heard the prophesy, it didn’t matter that her parents were now alive, she wanted Voldemort finished. She, unlike Dumbledore, could not rest until she did it herself!

“Professor Dumbledore, I wanted to talk to you about the Order of the Phoenix,” Iris said with feeling. “I want to join. I was a member back home.” Iris knew this wasn’t strictly true, she’d never been a member of the Order but she had been fighting to defeat Voldemort. Just as she would here.

“I’m afraid the Order of the Phoenix is restricted to fully qualified wizards and witches only. The war appears to have been more extreme where you came from. I can only hope to prevent that, however, I do not feel comfortable allowing students to join,” Dumbledore stately firmly. “Should you still wish to join when you graduate, I shall, of course, welcome you. In the meantime, I can only hope that you come to me if you believe your foreknowledge can assist in preventing casualties.” He continued in a much more somber tone. “I will not invade the sanctity of your mind again and, therefore, must only hope that you come to me with anything you can remember.”

Iris was shocked. Dumbledore was deciding not to actively use her knowledge of the future to gain an advantage over Voldemort. She was not going to be so shortsighted. Iris was going to hunt down Voldemort’s horcruxes again, starting with the one in the Room of Requirement. “Fine,” Iris stood up. “I’ll tell you if I remember anything. Thank you for your time, sir.”

Dumbledore gave a curt nod of dismissal and Iris walked to the door. She turned to see Dumbledore tightly gripping the Elder wand and watching her with fire in his light blue eyes. Iris threw open the door and started down the spiral staircase. When she was almost at the bottom, Iris thought she heard Dumbledore’s voice say, “Good luck, Iris.” But no, she had only imagined it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Taken from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
> 
> **Is it still impressive if you need to explain your attempts at sneaky JKR foreshadowing? Probably not, anyway, some background. Regulus is the brightest star of the Leo constellation and Iris is not only a flower but there is also the Iris Nebula in the constellation Cepheus (Andromeda is also a part of that constellation), which is also known as the wizard Nebula. I am hoping this feels a little like fifth year when Dumbledore also consults one of his instruments. What Dumbledore muttered at the end is a reference not only to Horcruxes but also to the Wuthering Heights quote “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same…” in reference to Catherine and Heathcliff. (Not here to debate whether that’s the creepiest story ever romanticized or the most romantic story made gothic.)
> 
> Well. That’s chapter 4. Sorry Reg there wasn’t any Reg/Iris soppiness but this was all plot set up. Far too much Dumbledore in the past few chapters, if you ask me. I feel like I need to create umpteen layers to whatever he and Iris are saying to each other… Quick PSA on a few things. The first being I know Iris' reasoning as to why she is leaving Dumbledore out of the horcrux hunt is flawed, but she is 17 and hurting. She feels abandoned by her Dumbledore and isn't making the best/most logical choices. Second, I know I used some squirrelly language about Dumbledore and Grindelwald's relationship. I love the fact that canon leads us to believe they were lovers. I think Dumbledore being gay and having been in love with a Dark Lord adds so much depth to his character. That said, at any age you don't discuss romantic liaison with your Headmaster so I wasn't going to have Iris bring up anything which might reference a sexual relationship. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos on the last chapter. I really appreciate anything you have to say. It is so encouraging to hear your thoughts and it's really nice to see people engage with the text. I hope you like it!


	6. V.

V.

 _"I hated the lot of them: my parents with their pure-blood mania, convinced that to be a Black made you practically royal... my idiot brother, soft enough to believe them... that's him. He was younger than me, and a much better son, as I was constantly reminded."-_ -Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

The Halloween Feast was replete with its usual splendor: the tables groaned under a litany of dishes and the Hall was decorated with enormous jack-o-lanterns. Regulus sat across from Alvin and a seventh year named Murdock Mulciber. He pushed remainder of his pudding around his plate, a filthy muggle habit for which his mother would have cursed his fingers together. Alvin and Mulciber had spent the majority of dinner waxing rhapsodically about the Dark Lord. Alvin, in particular, was taking advantage of Iris’ absence to return to the subject, which a mere month ago Regulus would have been all too happy to join in. They weren’t so bold as to discuss joining outright, not here, within spitting distance of Albus Dumbledore. They were, however, discussing the Dark Arts and the impact of the reforms pushed by mudbloods after the fall of Grindelwald on the continent.

“New spell development and potions creation have been stymied by the restrictions the Wizengamot passed in 1948,” Severus added snidely. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that the recent efforts released by the Department of Mysteries have all been focused on integrating with the _muggles_.”

“How are they integrating with muggles?” Regulus couldn’t help but ask Severus.

Mulciber cut over Severus’ answer. “Minchum’s no help either. Another mudblood Minister of Magic…God, this county’s going to the dogs.”

“The Dark Lord should do something about Minchum. Perhaps, Malfoy could invite this mudblood over for tea as well,” Alvin said maliciously, referring to the rumors that Abraxas Malfoy had assassinated the first mudblood Minister. 

“At least Jenkins was a good Minister,” Regulus added hotly. “She successfully put down the Squib Marches of ‘69. Unnatural creatures, _Squibs_. Can you believe they wanted to hold wizarding jobs, without _magic_?”

“Not their fault, is it?” Mulciber drawled. “Flithy mudbloods stole their magic.”

Regulus made eye contact with the largely silent Eamon and raised an eyebrow. Regulus knew that no one intelligent actually believed that mudbloods stole magic from wizards to create Squibs. It simply wasn’t possible to transfer magic from one being to another. It was possible to drain a person of magic, Regulus had read about that once while perusing his family’s library. After the magic left the wizard’s body, he would wither away as though subjected to the Dementor’s kiss. The drained magic could feed rituals and curses but it could not be transferred to a muggle to create a wizard. Had families, such as his own, discovered a means to transfer magic they would have stopped drowning Squib children in the bathtub generations earlier.

“This administration isn’t doing anything about the problems in our world,” Alvin continued on his soapbox. “They are even promoting rutting with muggles like animals, to prevent intermarrying.”

“Disgusting,” Mulciber spat.

“Yes, well. Severus could tell us all the particular joys of laying with filth, couldn’t he?” Eamon said, contributing for the first time.

“Better that than end up like the Blacks,” Severus replied in a dangerously soft voice. “That brother of yours is a prime example of an inbred swine.”

Regulus went cold. His companions were all staring at Severus, slightly aghast. Wrapping himself in the cloak of cold indifference Regulus had seen his cousin Narcissa employ so often, he replied, “You’d do well to remember your betters, _Snivellus_.” Regulus used the nickname, which he’d heard Sirius use to great effect. “The Blacks have had pure blood flowing through our veins since before your forbearers knew not to shit where they ate. And I… I have no brother.”

Thankfully, Dumbledore drew the feast to a close soon after his comments. Regulus was itching; he wanted to get away from his friends. He wanted to curse something. How dare, Snape, _half-blood_ Snape, speak ill of the Blacks? Barely noticing where he was going, Regulus trudged from the Great Hall with Rowle and Travers on either side. They had just ducked into a secret passageway near the kitchens when they ran into the tall form of Mary MacDonald coming towards them. Regulus did not want to see a Gyffindor mudblood right now. He could feel the air stir with the anticipation from his classmates. He simply wanted to get away.

“What do we have here?” came the nasal voice of Mulciber from behind him.

Regulus watched as MacDonald took a tentative step backwards. Her wand slipped into her hand but it was shaking. “I’m not afraid of you, Mulciber.”

The boy let out a harsh laugh and stalked forward, shunting Regulus aside. “That isn’t anyway to speak to your betters, Mudblood,” Alvin called from behind him, a sick parody of Regulus’ earlier comments.

“Why, Mary…” Called Mulciber softly. Regulus noted that he knew the girl’s first name as he watched a shudder run through her body. “I’ve missed our little games, haven’t you?”

“Leave me ALONE!” the girl called, more confident. Then, Mary MacDonald made a strategic error. She sent a cutting curse Mulciber’s way. Mulicber ducked in time but Eamon didn’t and it hit him square across the face. Regulus watched in morbid fascination as blood spurted from his friend.

Suddenly, Regulus wanted to hurt this girl. He wanted this little mudblood to feel some of the pain and humiliation that Regulus had to endure. Regulus slid his wand into his hand and sent a violent trip jinx at her feet. Taken off guard, MacDonald fell hard onto the stone floor skidding forward. Regulus stalked towards her, his wand trained on the Gryffindor.

“You think can come down here and hex my friends?” He asked, almost spitting. “You are _nothing_. You are dirt. You are _less_ than dirt.” Regulus made his way over to where her wand had fallen as she tried to catch her balance and trod on it, feeling the wood snap under his weight. “You don’t belong here, mudblood. An—“

But Regulus never got the chance to finish that particular thought because a loud voice from somewhere behind him called “What the fuck is going on here?”

Regulus deflated. He knew that voice. He stepped back from the girl who had not moved but was now staring mournfully at the place where her broken wand lay. Sure enough, Iris Granger pushed her way through the Slytherins to stand in front of Regulus. Her lovely features were marred with anger. “What did you do, Regulus?”

He made a miserable gesture with his hand, which seemed to encompass everything that had happened that night: Snape insulting his family and poking the open wound that was Sirius, Eamon, who was pressing a monogramed handkerchief to his cheek, and Mary MacDonald who at Iris’ intervention had crawled to her wand and was now cradling the broken pieces in her cupped hands.

“Granger, she started it, MacDonald cursed Travers,” Snape cut in gesturing at Eamon.

“Yeah?” Iris said, not taking her eyes from Regulus’ face. “Five against one. I’m sure you felt real threatened. Needed to snap her wand.” Regulus noted idly that she looked extremely like Lily Evans in that moment. Face flushed, eyes narrowed and red hair loose around her shoulders.

The boys made soft noises of discomfort and Regulus suddenly realized that even his friends thought he had gone too far. It wasn’t fair; it was just a mudblood. “And,” Iris continued, in a slightly louder voice, “I’m sure you were perfectly civil beforehand. Just minding your own business?”

“She shouldn’t be down here,” Mulciber cut in with renewed fervor.

“Why couldn’t you just leave her _alone_?” Iris continued, her questions directed solely at Regulus. “What did she do to you?”

He cleared his throat. “Well, it's more the fact that she _exists_ , if you know what I mean.”

Iris’ face, which had been flushed during their conversation, lost all color. “Fine, Regulus. Fine, I won’t bother.” She turned sharply and reached out a hand to MacDonald. “Come on,” she said in a much softer voice. “Lets go up to Professor McGonagall.” MacDonald allowed herself to be pulled to her feet and Iris tucked a comforting hand around the taller girl’s arm before turning once again to face Regulus. “And you. You are going to go to Professor Slughorn and tell him what you did. If your story does not match the one Mary tells McGonagall, I will know and I will make what you did here look like child’s play.” She spat the last word as though it was poison on her tongue and swept past his friends.

*

Regulus stood outside Slughorn’s office the following Saturday morning for the first of his three detentions. Slughorn had been appalled to learn that Regulus had so callously broken another wizard’s wand. He had immediately taken 50 points from Slytherin and assigned the detentions. Regulus later learned that Slughorn had also written to his parents. Walburga Black had written a curt missive saying that they would discuss the incident at the end of term and that she expected more of the heir to the Blacks. If Regulus was being honest with himself, the punishment paled in comparison to Iris’ reaction. Overnight, she seemed to have disappeared from his life. She no longer sat with them for meals and was rarely seen in the Slytherin Common Room anymore, preferring to spend her time in the Library or hanging around with Evans and Lupin. Worse still, Alvin, Mulciber and another seventh year named Avery seemed to have taken Regulus’ actions as an invitation to include him in their frequent discussions on the Dark Lord and his accolades. Whenever one of these conversations began around him, Regulus could not help but hear a small, snide voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like a mixture of Sirius and Iris pointing out the flaws in their arguments.

At ten past nine the door to Slughorn’s office opened and the portly professor shuffled into view. “Ah, Mr. Black. Right on time,” he said. “Come in, come in,” gesturing for Regulus to enter the well appointed room. “We are just waiting for one more.”

“Sir?” Regulus asked.

“Yes. Minerva asked me to supervise his detention.” Slughorn said with a wave of his pudgy hand. “Something about catching them hexing suits of armor to follow her around and pay her outrageous compliments… Rather clever if you think about it. Must ask him how they managed it…” he mused.

Regulus felt a sinking feeling in his gut. He thought he knew just who the person they were waiting for might be. Let it be Lupin, he prayed. Or even Pettigrew. Clearly, though, no one was listening to Regulus’ prayers, as moments later his older brother ducked into the room, slightly out of breath.

“Sorry I’m late, Professor. James was being a prat and jinxed my shoes to chase Peter around the common room.” He panted, smiling widely.

“Not to worry, my dear boy. Not to—“

But Slughorn was interrupted, as Sirius appeared to notice his surroundings for the first time and let out a strangled, “Reg!”

Regulus gave Sirius what he hoped was a withering look before pointedly returning his attention to Slughorn, who looked uncomfortably sympathetic. “I do hope this won’t be a problem. The two of you, together.”

Sirius gave a bark of laughter before saying in a much harsher voice than before, “No problem, Professor. I’m nobody to Regulus.”

Regulus bristled. “For once, sir, Sirius is speaking sense.”

“Very well,” Slughorn said sadly. “The two of you will be re-organizing and cataloguing the ingredients’ cupboard. It is an extensive task and I do not expect you to finish it today. Regulus, you will continue during your next two Saturdays. I will be in here, should you need me,” he finished with an air that implied they better not need him.

Regulus nodded once and led the way out of the study and towards the Potions storeroom, Sirius trailing behind at a leisurely pace. Once Regulus opened the cupboard he realized the gargantuan task that lay ahead of him. The bins were stuffed with mismatched flora and fauna, jars of pickling animal parts cluttered the shelves, and dried fungi hung from hooks all over the ceiling. Regulus felt a slight movement at his shoulder and behind him Sirius swore softly.

“Don’t whinge, Sirius. You only have to be here for the day.” Regulus couldn’t help but snipe.

Sirius merely sent Regulus a haughty look before edging his way into the room. “I’ll do the bins,” He announced. Regulus moved further into the room and resolutely turned his back on Sirius, beginning to catalogue the differently aged rat spleens.

They had been working in tense silence for about an hour when Sirius cut in, “Did you really use a cutting curse against MacDonald so you could see her ‘filthy blood’?” Regulus could hear the quotations around the last bit.

“No,” he said snidely. “Why? Worried I ruined her good looks? Want to get a mudblood for yourself? You and Potter could have a matching set.”

“Don’t call them that,” Sirius said with passion.

“Please, Sirius,” Regulus rolled his eyes, examining the jar of armadillo hearts. “You can play the proper Gryffindor with Potter but not with me. I know you used to call _muggleborns,_ ” Regulus stressed the word, “mudbloods too.”

“Yeah,” Sirius scoffed. “When I was _eleven_ … Mostly, because I didn’t want a lecture from mother about consorting with the right sort.”

Regulus huffed but did not argue further and the two fell back into uncomfortable silence. Finally, as though he couldn’t stop himself, Sirius burst out, “So, what happened, then?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Regulus,” Sirius growled. Regulus looked around to see his brother clutching a gurdyroot and running a hand stiffly through his dark locks. “Just tell me,” he beseeched.

“Fine,” Regulus replied, setting the misfiled sopophorous bean on the table with slightly more force than necessary. “I was coming back from the Halloween feast with Rowle, Travers, Mulciber—“

“Mulicber,” Sirius spat. “Regulus, I don’t know why you hang around with him. He is _foul_.”

“Sirius,” Regulus sighed. “Do you want to know what happened or not?”

“Yeah, alright,” Sirius appeared slightly chastened. “Sorry.”

“Yeah.” Regulus rolled his eyes. “So we were in the passageway near the kitchens, behind the tapestry of the kissing goblins, when we ran into the mud—” Regulus cut himself off at the look on Sirius’ face. “ _MacDonald._ She and Mulciber started having a go at each other.” Regulus ignored Sirius’ look, which clearly said ‘ _I told you so_ ’ and plowed on with his story. “Then MacDonald cursed Eamon. Cut his cheek open and everything. So, I tripped her.” Regulus shot a look of defiance at Sirius. “She deserved it.”

“That’s it?” Sirius said skeptically. “You tripped her.”

Regulus hummed and turned back to the potions ingredients. There was a couple moments of quiet and then Sirius said in a hurt tone. “Right, Reg, if you weren’t going to tell me everything, why’d you start?”

“I did tell you,” Regulus replied sharply. “Everything important, anyway.”

“Fucks sake, Regulus. You don’t get three detentions and 50 points from Slughorn for a third year hex.”

“She deserved it,” Regulus repeated, facing Sirius again. “She cut open Eamon’s face. You think just because were not poor little mudbloods, we don’t get hurt?”

“That’s not what I said,” Sirius replied, affronted. “No, listen. I don’t like Mulciber and I think Snape’s a wanker of the first order but Travers is alright. Anyway, MacDonald’s always getting herself into messes she can’t clean up.” He grimaced. “I still think you’re leaving something out,” he finished his grey eyes boring into Regulus own.

Regulus broke eye contact and muttered, “Fine… I broke her wand.”

Sirius groaned and Regulus had to tamp down the childhood impulse to justify his actions. They both returned to their sorting and Regulus felt worse than before, his older brother’s disappointment thick in the air.

After minutes that felt like hours to Regulus, Sirius spoke again in a much softer voice. “Why’d you do it, Reg? You know what a statement breaking a muggleborn’s wand is right now.” There was a pleading note to his tone that made Regulus feel five years old again, desperate for Sirius’ approval.

Regulus kept his back to Sirius as he struggled to come up with an appropriate response. Finally, he admitted. “I don’t know, really. They just come here, mud—muggleborns, I mean, and they don’t understand. They come into our world and they think they know everything. But, they’ve never felt the pressure, they just come and it’s one big lark, magic. Turning toadstools into tea cozies. They don’t _belong_.” 

Sirius seemed to be mulling over his response and for a time there was only the rustle of ingredients being shuffled around. “I think… I think you’re right,” Regulus felt shock flow through him. “They don’t really understand. They can’t, can they. I mean, imagine someone like Lily Evans over at our parents for tea.” Regulus tried to picture it. He couldn’t, not really. “But…” Sirius continued, “I don’t think they really belong in the muggle world either. I mean, Evans told me that’s why she was mates with Snv—Snape for so long. She’d felt so different, so isolated, in the muggle world and Snape was the first person that told her she was a witch. How could we take that away from her just because she doesn’t always understand our traditions?”

Regulus opened his mouth to begin the old argument about blood purity and banned magical practices but Sirius raised his hand. “No, Reg.” He smiled slightly. “I don’t want to argue, just… think about it.” Regulus closed his mouth with a snap.

The two boys returned to their separate tasks, conversation having ended for the afternoon. Regulus thought about what Sirius said and struggled to find fault, the small voice in his head adding _‘that’s because he’s right…you know he’s right.’_ When Slughorn came to release them at the end of the day, Regulus took off for the Slytherin table and dinner without a backwards glance. It wasn’t until much later that he realized that was probably the most he’d spoken with his brother since he ran away two years prior.

*

Regulus was looking forward to his second detention even less than the first. The week had been excruciating, he had started to avoid the common room. Since his conversation with Sirius, Regulus was finding it difficult to sit quietly as Alvin grew steadily more enraptured with the Dark Lord, he had taken to sniping stories of mysterious disappearances and murders from the _Daily Prophet_ to give to Regulus. Regulus often found himself shut in his four poster late into the evenings rereading the gruesome tales and picturing Iris or Sirius as the victims described. Iris had returned to the common room more often and she and Eamon often sat together quietly chatting. Every time Regulus glanced over to see them, heads together, one bright and one dark, he felt a jolt of anger rush through him.

Today was the first Quidditch match of the season: Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. Iris had been looking forward to it, he knew. She had been a seeker in her time and was envious that he was able to play. They had planned to go flying together sometime. That probably wouldn’t happen now, he thought dully. In a couple hours, Iris would be seated comfortably in the Slytherin section next to Eamon, listening to his stories of international league games. She wouldn’t miss Regulus.

Regulus knocked on Professor Slughorn’s office. The door was promptly opened from the inside and Regulus came face to face with—Sirius. He must have looked confused because Slughorn chuckled merrily. “Yes, Mr. Black, your brother has landed himself in detention, once again.”

“What did he do this time, sir?” Regulus asked drolly.

“Forgot to do my homework,” Sirius said with a roguish grin. This gave Regulus pause. Sirius getting detention was nothing new. Sirius and his friends probably held the record for the most detentions ever served. Generally, though, their detentions were a result of some type of flamboyant mischief. This seemed, dare Regulus think, purposeful. Regulus was mulling over the possibility that Sirius had gotten a detention to spend time with him, as Sirius led them back to the store cupboard.

Sirius and Regulus worked in somewhat companionable silence for a while, occasionally commenting on a vile ingredient they discovered or speculating on the last time this area had been cleaned. It felt nice. Regulus was relaxing for the first time all week. In this cupboard, he could almost forget the weight of all the expectations Sirius had so callously discarded and deposited on Regulus’ shoulders.

Nearing the end of the day, Regulus finally mustered the courage to ask Sirius what he had been building up to, he never claimed to be a Gryffindor. “Sirius,” he cleared his throat. “Did you…ahh… did you get detention on purpose?”

Sirius whipped his head around, surprise clear on his aristocratic features before he schooled his face into determined nonchalance. “On purpose? Why would I get a detention on purpose?”

“No reason,” Regulus said lightly and he felt his lips curl into a small smile.

“Besides,” Sirius said with a forced laugh. “It’s Quidditch today. James has been an absolute prat about me missing the game.”

Regulus felt some of the buoyance in his chest fade and snarked, “What? He can’t get it up without you there to hold his balls?”

Regulus was somewhat surprised when Sirius just laughed. “Yeah, well, Prongs can be as needy as mother. Best it's Evans who has that particular job now.”

Regulus felt a little uncomfortable at his brother’s reference to their mother but decided not to say anything. The rest of the afternoon was spent chatting about school and thoroughly abusing Slughorn for assigning them such a terrible task. When they parted for the day, Regulus was surprised to feel a slight pang of disappointment and he turned around to call out. “Sirius, sorry to have kept you from your usual ride on Potter’s broom!” Regulus watched as a large grin spread over his brother’s face but he simply but up two fingers and headed off in the direction of Gryffindor tower.

*

The following Saturday Regulus was not at all surprised to arrive at Slughorn’s office at the appointed time and find Sirius leaning casually against the stone wall. “What’d you do this time?" He smirked.

“Ahh little brother, I don’t want to befoul your youthful innocence.” Sirius waggled his eyebrows.

Regulus chuckled and led the way into Slughorn’s office. “The brothers Black,” Slughorn exclaimed, “back again.” Regulus felt his smile widen.

They shuffled through into the store cupboard and Regulus picked up the thread of the conversation. “So, what is it exactly you need to protect my delicate sensibilities from?”

Sirius seated himself on the floor and resumed labeling the ingredients in his careful penmanship. “Well, I may have snogged Shafiq in Slughorn’s class.” He trailed off, looking, if possible, both sheepish and rather pleased with himself.

Regulus laughed. “The middle of class? Why’d you do that?”

“Remus bet me I couldn’t.” Sirius shrugged like that was the end of it. “And, to be fair, it was more like the end of class.”

“Well, where’s your paramour, then?” Regulus asked, smiling despite himself.

“Ahh… she’s doing her detention with Flitwick, I think. Slughorn seemed to think we couldn’t be trusted together.” He coughed.

“Yes,” Regulus agreed knowledgeably. “I, too, find weighing rotting potions ingredients to be a potent aphrodisiac. It’s a good thing you’re here, otherwise… who knows, maybe, I would have attacked Slughorn.”

Sirius blanched, “Reg, don’t joke about that! Ugh, can you _imagine_? With Slughorn?”

“I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”

“You mentioned it!” Sirius protested, throwing his quill at Regulus who ducked.

A short while later Sirius broke their companionable silence, “Hey, Reg,” he ran a hand through his hair, a nervous tick that Regulus was fairly sure he had picked up from James Potter. “Speaking of birds,” Sirius was using his affected blokey voice, “what’s up with you and the new girl?”

“Sorry?” Regulus said quickly. He did not want to have this conversation with Sirius of all people.

“Come on, Regulus,” Sirius said, coming to lean next to Regulus at the table. “You go from barely spending time with people outside Rowle and Travers and then all of the sudden you’re hanging out with this unknown girl all the time and then a few weeks later I never see you with her.” Sirius nudged him playfully in the arm. “What happened?”

“She’s not unknown, just new,” Regulus replied, ignoring the rest of Sirius question while feeling decidedly pleased that Sirius paid enough attention to Regulus to notice with whom he spent his time.

“Don’t avoid the question, little brother. You’re all pink.”

“Am not!” Regulus exclaimed hotly, but Sirius just smirked carelessly and returned to writing labels.

After stewing for a while, Regulus decided it might not be the worst thing to do to consult his brother. Sirius had the enviable ability to get on well with women, especially the good-looking ones. “I don’t know…” He muttered. “She’s different. Not like anyone I’ve ever met before. Sure she’s pretty and clever but… she’s also strong.” Regulus looked up from examining his shoes to see Sirius looking at him intently. “She’s been through some things and still isn’t afraid… And she is _so_ disappointed in me.” Regulus scrubbed a hand over his face, ashamed.

“Well, fuck.” Sirius said succinctly. The brothers shared a look and Regulus knew he was right. Well, fuck, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot happened in this chapter. Iris and Regulus need to deal with Regulus' prejudice and I felt like it would be more dramatic if that came to a head on Halloween with tensions already running high. I know that breaking a wand isn't something thats discussed in the books as taboo but I feel like given that the only person we know whose wand was purposefully broken was Hagrid when he was expelled we can believe that it would be a massive statement to break a muggleborn's wand. I enjoyed the Black brother bonding progression and Sirius' blatant rule breaking to get back with Reg in his detentions. What do you think? Did it feel rushed? As I never considered joining a cult set to commit genocide against a race of people it's hard to know how Regulus would come to terms with his beliefs being wrong. Thank you all for your kind words, kudos and follows. They really help to motivate the writing process. If you haven't already seen it, I wrote a one shot on Ron coming to terms with Iris' "death" in the world she left behind called Dulce Est Decorum Est. I am thinking of adding more one shots in Iris world as I continue like things from the Marauders perspective, etc.


	7. VI.

VI.

 _“Harry stared at the creature, filled with wonder, not at her strangeness, but at her inexplicable familiarity. He felt that he had been waiting for her to come, but that he had forgotten, until this moment, that they had arranged to meet.”_ –Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, pg. 366.

_Iris landed on the Astronomy tower next to Dumbledore. The sickly green light emanating from the Dark Mark made him look even paler. He was griping the balustrade tightly in his left hand but his wand was grasped firmly in his right and there was the familiar strength behind his pale blue eyes. Iris quickly scanned the area. They were alone._

_“Sir, maybe, maybe nobody’s hurt…” Iris said desperately. Trying not to think of Ron and Hermione, sent to watch Snape’s office. “Maybe it’s just a prank…” The words died in her throat. No one would think this was funny. Not even Fred and George, with their edible Dark Marks and You-Know-Poo, would put the Dark Mark at a school full of children._

_Dumbledore let out a small moan. He stumbled and leaned heavily against the tower wall, his strength clearly failing him. “Professor Dumbledore, you need help!” cried Iris, stricken. “I’ll go get Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall, they’ll—they’ll know what’s going on.”_

_“Get Professor Snape,” Dumbledore said in a hoarse voice._

_“But sir,” Snape was behind whatever happened here. She was sure of it. “You’re hurt—“_

_Dumbledore cut her off, “Severus. I need Severus.” A plaintive note in the normally calm voice that scared her more than anything else had this evening. “Under your cloak, Iris.” He slid further down the wall, almost sitting now._

_Iris nodded and she grabbed the invisibility cloak from her bag. She threw it over her shoulders and headed for the stairs. Suddenly, she could hear running footsteps. Dumbledore made an out of the way movement with his hand and Iris stepped back from the door._

_The door burst open with a harsh cry of “_ Expelliarmus!” _Iris felt herself go rigid as she fell back against the tower wall, stiff as a statue. For a moment she was confused, that wasn’t the immobilization charm. Then, with sickening clarity, she understood, Dumbledore’s wand flew out of his hand over the ramparts. Dumbledore had frozen her and in the time he took to do so, he’d lost his opportunity to block the boy, pale blonde hair glinting in the green glow. Iris watched the boy step forward and saw Draco—Draco! No! It wasn’t supposed to be him. It was Snape. Snape who had sold Lily and James Potter to Voldemort. Snape, who Iris had never trusted. Not Draco. Draco, who had kissed Iris so passionately mere hours earlier._

_“Are you alone?” Draco spat, wand trained on Dumbledore’s chest._

_“Yes, Draco, it is just us here,” Dumbledore replied calmly. “I can help you, Draco.”_

_“Help me!” Draco said, somewhat hysterical. “You can’t help me, no one can help me. I’ve got to kill you or I’ve got to kill her. He told me.”_

_“You don’t have to kill anyone, Draco,” Dumbledore said softly. “You are not a killer. I do not think even Lord Voldemort thinks you will kill me and he certainly does not wish for you to kill Iris Potter.”_

_“I let Death Eaters into the school,” Draco said, wand shaking. “Someone’s already dead. I did that.”_

_“An unfortunate error to have brought Death Eaters here, but not one you cannot come back from,” Dumbledore said panting. “You have not killed anyone. We can help you. We can get you to safety.”_

_Draco gave a harsh laugh. “You can’t help me! You don’t even know who is loyal to you.” Draco tightened his grip on his wand. “Besides, he’ll kill me if I don’t kill you or her. I’ve got to kill one of you.”_

_“Then why not murder your classmate, Draco?” Dumbledore asked as though they were conducting a philosophical debate. “You’ve had plenty of opportunities alone with her this term. You could have, I’m sure, poisoned her, or cursed her during one those times…” Dumbledore was right. Iris had met Draco numerous times this year, in darkened corridors or unused classrooms. They had always been alone. He could have easily killed her any number of times. Instead, he had brought Death Eaters into her home, endangered her friends and was holding Professor Dumbledore at wandpoint. “Far simpler, I’m sure, than restoring the vanishing cabinet in the Room of Requirement and bringing Death Eaters into my school to kill me,” Dumbledore continued._

_“I don’t know. I just didn’t.” Draco said petulantly._

_“You didn’t because you care, Draco,” Dumbledore said, slowly leveraging himself up the ramparts._

_“I don’t! It’s just Potter!” Draco cried. “We’re just messing about,” he continued childishly._

_“You do care. You care so much you think you might break with the pain of it. That is Iris Potter’s greatest strength, her ability to love and inspire fierce love in return. You are here, fighting a battle you will likely loose, because you care too much about Iris to cause her pain. In short, you love.” Dumbledore was sweating now. He seemed to be shaking with the effort of keeping himself upright, but he continued in a steady voice. “Incidentally, that is Lord Voldemort’s greatest weakness, he does not understand what we will do for those we love.”_

_The door behind them burst open and—*_

Iris woke up, heart pounding. She looked around expecting to see Astronomy tower bathed in light from the Dark Mark, once her eyes adjusted she remembered that she was in her four poster, in the Slytherin dormitories, in the past. She lay back on the sheets and remembered that night. The Death Eaters joining them on the tower. Dumbledore’s small voice begging Snape to kill him, not that Iris had known that at the time, she thought they’d both been betrayed by someone they trusted. She remembered chasing after Draco. Calling him a coward. Cursing him with _Sectumsempra_ and watching, horrified, as the blood soaked his arm. Learning that Snape was the Half-Blood Prince. Watching them disapparate. Wishing she didn’t hope that Draco would be okay.

Iris scrubbed a hand over her face. She knew she would not be getting back to sleep anytime soon. She sat up and dressed silently in yesterday’s clothes. Iris’ feet led her through the silent castle. Not thinking about where she was headed, Iris was, nevertheless, unsurprised to look up and find herself in front of the blank stretch of wall across from the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy’s attempts to teach trolls the ballet.

It was becoming a little ridiculous, this habit. Iris had made very little progress in her vow to hunt and destroy Horcruxes. Every time she opened the newspaper and saw stories of mysterious disappearances or strange happenings in the muggle world she felt a sick feeling rise in her gut. While she had been spending time with Regulus it had been easy, well easier, to tamp down that feeling and remind herself that she had time. That the war hadn’t really become nasty for another year. Now that she wasn’t speaking to Regulus, though, she found herself returning to the Room of Hidden Objects with frightening regularity.

When she had first come to the room, during her first week in the past, she had been surprised to see Ravenclaw’s diadem exactly where it had been twenty years in the future: inside the large cupboard with peeling paint. The Vanishing Cabinet Draco had spent so many months trying to fix wasn’t there yet, nor was the bust with the dusty wig, but a piece of Tom Riddle’s soul lay innocuously amongst a pile of old junk. As she opened her eyes, the familiar door flickered into focus and she quickly stepped through into the massive hall. Picking her way through the maze of forgotten objects, Iris began to repeat the list she and Hermione parroted back and forth so many times in the months previous that it had almost lost all meaning. _The diary, the locket, the ring, the cup, the snake, the diadem…_ Iris stopped herself before she could add— _me_.

At least Voldemort hadn’t gotten around to that particular sin yet, she was sure that the Horcrux had not made the trip back in time with her. Nor had he made Nagini into a Horcrux. That left five Horcruxes she would have to find and destroy. The diary he’d made in school and given to the Malfoys at one point. After tonight’s dream, Iris yearned to speak to Draco just for a moment. Not that they had ever discussed Voldemort or had much in the way of real conversation but she found herself wishing fiercely that he was here to call her scar-head and roll his beautiful grey eyes. She was not looking forward to trying to steal the Tom Riddle’s Diary away from his father. Seeing Lucius Malfoy would serve as a potent reminder that it was Iris’ fault that Draco was dead.

The ring should be in the Gaunt shack by now. How arrogant Voldemort was, to have made a Deathly Hallow into a Horcrux and left it to rot in that run down shack. Still, Iris was not confident in her ability to combat the defenses without Dumbledore. She knew that she would have died a watery death when they went to the cave, like Regulus, had Dumbledore not been there to save her. The ring would have to wait as well.

Kreacher said that Voldemort placed the locket in the cave the year after Regulus joined the Death Eaters. There was still time, Iris thought. Time to save Regulus. When Iris had first arrived in the past, she’d thought she could perhaps save Regulus from becoming a Death Eater at all. She had allowed herself to become close with him. It was clear to her now, though, that Regulus at sixteen was everything Sirius had told her. Regulus’ snapping of Mary MacDonald’s wand had led to a swath of anti-muggleborn bullying breaking out around the castle. Regulus’ actions having given the blood purists at Hogwarts a rallying point around which to gather. It disgusted her that the soft-spoken, intelligent boy who had been her friend would bully someone merely because they _existed_. 

With some difficulty, Iris pulled herself from thoughts of Regulus and refocused on the existing Horcruxes. Hufflepuff’s cup would most likely already be in Bellatrix Lestrange’s Gringotts Vault. As far as Iris knew, Bellatrix had been a Death Eater for a few years now. Iris shuddered at the thought of returning to Gringotts. She would have to wait.

The final Horcrux was sitting in front of her. She was reminded of the wardrobe where the boy Tom Riddle had sneaked his stolen goods in the orphanage. If only, she could set this wardrobe on fire like Dumbledore had all those years earlier. _Incendio_ wouldn’t be enough to destroy a Horcrux though and remembering Vincent Crabbe’s fiery death, Iris was too afraid to use _Fiendfyre_. Iris was stuck. There would be no Dumbledore to offer words of wisdom, no Hermione to find the answer in a book, no Snape to solve her problems. She was alone. She viciously kicked the cabinet where the Horcrux hid.

The rest of the day Iris was in a foul mood. She wanted to talk to someone about the Horcruxes and the future. She desperately missed Ron and Hermione and the easy companionship they’d always had between them. She’d spent the first eleven years of her life alone and friendless, finding Ron and Hermione had been like discovering a family, one, which understood her and would always be there for her. When she’d first arrived in 1977, she’d felt a similar kinship with Regulus. She’d always felt connected with R.A.B., the first person to have discovered the Horcruxes but her friendship with Regulus was something different, something deeper.

In the beginning, it was merely that he knew she was from the past. It felt like he was the one person she was free to be Iris Potter around. Then, after the incident on Halloween she realized what an integral part of her life he had become. She simply enjoyed being around him.Over the previous month, she had finally stopped turning to tell Ron and Hermione things but now she found herself cataloguing little anecdotes to tell Regulus over dinner before remembering that she wasn’t speaking to him.

In fact, they had only spoken once since the incident. The Wednesday after Halloween, Iris had cornered Regulus in a corridor and offered to return his gold. In a fit of peak, she’d even offered to work to pay back all of the gold he’d already spent on her school books and robes with interest after she graduated. Regulus had looked insulted and deeply hurt. His reaction only served to frustrate her more, she wanted to rage at him, to ask him how he could be so cruel. Instead, she felt as though she was the one acting irrationally.

Iris knew she was becoming increasingly difficult to be around. In Transfiguration, she wasn’t able to stop herself from snapping at Remus. They had begun Cross-Species switching spells and Iris was red-faced trying to give the hamster in front of her a pair of gills. Unfortunately, she seemed unable to complete the transfiguration and despite repeated attempts, by the end of class the only change to her hamster were a couple of fish scales under each ear. McGonagall tutted at her failure and clearly trying to reassure her, Remus asked in an undertone when anyone in their right mind would want to grow a pair of gills. Iris replied snottily, “I don’t know, maybe when the Ministry thinks it would be a good idea to hold your friends hostage at the bottom of the lake?” before storming out of the classroom. Instead of helping to release some of her frustration, snapping at Remus left Iris feeling guiltier. Since the day she’d sat with him and Lily in the Library, Iris and Remus had begun to build a friendship. It was no twelve-foot mountain troll, but it seemed McGonagall’s essay on Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration was a bonding experience all on its own. Instead of working to foster that friendship, to build ties closer ties with her parents and their friends, Iris was worrying about a Death Eater recruit.

*

Iris was brooding at the Slytherin table on the morning of the second Saturday in November. Last night, Eamon had convinced her to join him in the Slytherin Common Room. He was one of her only friends left in Slytherin and she knew he felt uncomfortable spending time around Mulciber and Avery. Despite his discomfort with their clear fanaticism, Eamon was clam-like on the subject of the Dark Lord. He was pureblood and she was fairly certain his father was a Death Eater but Eamon seemed uninterested in politics. He didn’t seem bothered by the fact that she was claiming to be the half-blood daughter of a muggle, not even a muggleborn.

They’d spent an enjoyable hour, him disparaging her terrible chess skills, before she overhead Alvin Rowle reading report from the _Daily Prophet_ about the gruesome murder of an Auror and his muggleborn wife with relish. Regulus was sitting across from Rowle with a bored look on his handsome features. Iris had turned to Eamon, hoping he would say something to his friends. He took one look at her face and swiftly shook his head before ordering his knight to take her queen. Iris watched the little stone man viciously beating her queen, picturing the muggleborn woman instead.

Iris looked around the breakfast table. How many of her Slytherin classmates would sit idly by as Voldemort murdered innocent people, like Eamon unwilling to say something. Iris sighed and pushed the porridge around in her bowl. “Hiya,” the soft voice of Lily Evans broke into her Iris’ thoughts.

“Hey, Lily,” Iris replied dully. She glanced up to see the other girl standing in front of her cheeks flushed, a Gryffindor scarf wound tightly around her neck.

Undeterred at Iris’ lackluster greeting Lily said, “Want to come watch the Quidditch game with me?”

“With you?” Iris asked in surprise, unable to suppress the slight giddiness she felt whenever her mother wanted to spend time with her. Lily nodded, green eyes sparkling.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Iris rose from the bench. She glanced back at the table to see Snape staring at Lily with a look of undisguised longing sharp on his features. He hadn’t yet learned how to hide his emotions and play the spy; maybe he would never need to.

As Lily and Iris walked towards the Quidditch pitch they passed Remus and Pettigrew. Lily gave them a friendly wave, which the boys returned glancing at Iris. “Why didn’t you want to go to the match with your friends?” Iris cut in, speaking over the steady stream of genial chatter Lily had kept up since leaving the Great Hall.

Lily looked confused. “You mean Remus and Peter?” She tugged nervously on a piece of long straight titian hair. “Well Peter is the commentator and Remus usual sits with him and McGonagall,” she said in a rush.

“Who do you normally sit with?” Iris asked.

They began climbing the stands in the Gryffindor section, Iris’ green and silver uniform standing out in a horde of crimson and gold. “I dunno… does it matter?” Lily huffed.

“No, I suppose not,” Iris placidly replied. The two girls found their seats and Iris turned to watch the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teams filing onto the pitch. She could make out the untidy dark hair and wiry build of her father who was in deep discussion with the other two Gryffindor chasers.

“James is brilliant at Quidditch,” Lily said excitedly. “We won the cup last year under his captaincy.”

“Yes, I know. Slytherin whinge about it enough,” Iris put in, thinking of Regulus’ complaints that Gryffindor’s seeker wasn’t even that good, that Regulus had caught the snitch when they’d played each other the previous year but that the Gryffindor chasers had racked up too many points.

“Oh, I forgot you were friends with Sirius’ brother. He plays seeker for Slytherin, right?”

Iris was saved from discussing Regulus by the sharp whistle of the referee as fifteen brooms rose into the air.

“And the Quaffle in Gryffindor possession,” Peter began his commentary. “My mate and captain, James Potter, zooming towards the Ravenclaw—pass to Crenshaw. Dirk Crenshaw, a new find this year, replacing Benjy Fenwick. Crenshaw as a third year, is the youngest member of Gryffindor’s team. Crenshaw aiming for the Ravenclaw hoops, can he do it? Ahh! Tricky save by Ravenclaw Keeper, Damian Figg. Bad luck, Dirk.” Iris tuned out Peter’s commentary, which she had to admit was quite good even if it lacked Lee Jordan’s flair, and began to look for the snitch.

“Have you gotten to see a lot of Quidditch, being homeschooled?” Lily asked breaking her focus.

“I’ve not seen a lot of games, no.” Iris smiled. “But I love to fly. We used to play pick up games and I always played seeker.” The crowd roared around them as Ravenclaw made the first goal of the match.

“You’ll have to fly with the boys some time,” Lily said fondly, her eyes tracking James’ progression with the quaffle. “I love watching but I’m not so great with heights.”

Flying with her dad had been one of Iris’ dreams ever since she discovered that like her eyes, flying was something she shared with James Potter. “I can’t,” she said stiffly. “I don’t have a broom anymore.”

“Oh,” Lily said regretfully. They both turned back to the game and watched as James scored two consecutive goals for Gryffindor.

Iris was kicking herself. For years she’d imagined what it would be like to talk to Lily, what she was interested in, whether she was right or left handed, what her voice sounded like when she wasn’t begging for her daughter’s life. Now, here Iris was unable to carry on a simple conversation about Quidditch. “Lily, I—” She started.

“I’m sorry—“ Lily tried. They looked at each other for a long moment before they both started to laugh.

“I’ve been in a right mood. I don’t mean to make you feel like you’re walking on eggshells,” Iris said when she’d caught her breath.

“No,” Lily said. “I just think we could be friends and I think I’m putting too much pressure on this.” Lily sighed, her northern accent becoming thicker as she continued. “I don’t have a lot of close friends. The girls in Gryffindor, we’re friendly but not friends. You know?” Iris nodded, thinking of Ginny and her dormmates back home. “And the boys are great, but they are more James’ friends… It's not like they don’t include me, they do.” She rushed to add. Iris quickly nodded her understanding and Lily continued. “I used to have a best friend… he and I had a falling out though. I still miss him.” She said the last bit like a confession.

“What happened with your friend?” Iris asked thinking of Snape’s doe Patronus.

Lily watched the game for a long moment, not seeming to take in any of the plays. “He had a tough time growing up. Then at Hogwarts, he fell in with the wrong crowd and started going on about power and the Dark Lord. No one in Gryffindor understood why I hung out with him. He spent all of his time with the blood purist Slytherin.” Lily looked embarrassed. “I mean—no offense. I know you’re Slytherin too.”

Iris smiled easily. “No offense taken. Some of Slytherin are slimy gits just like some of Gryffindor are bullying twats.”

“Thanks.” Lily nodded. “And you’re not wrong about Gryffindor. James used to be a right tit. Mainly to Severus but I suppose Sev used that awful cutting curse on Peter in fifth year and…” Lily trailed off.

“I understand,” Iris said. She thought of grey eyes. She understood how much this war divided people.

“Anyway,” Lily brightened. “What I mean to say is that if you ever want to talk about whatever happened with you and Regulus Black, I’m here.”

“Thanks Lily, but I think this is something that I need to figure out on my own,” Iris said.

Around them the Gryffindor section erupted in cheers. Apparently the Gryffindor seeker had pulled off a miraculously catch, snatching the snitch next to Ravenclaw’s third hoop while James scored a goal in the middle. Pettigrew was crowing “Potter for England!” in the announcer’s box. Lily and Iris joined in the cheers.

The girls made their way out of the stands. Stopping at the locker rooms, Lily gave Iris a fierce hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow? You can help me with my Dementor essay.”

“I’d like that.” Iris reveled in her first ever hug from her mother.

“Great! Well, I’d better wait to tell James just how wonderful he was.” Lily smiled cheekily.

“Try not to inflate his ego too much!” Iris replied stepping back.

*

Iris was sitting in the Quidditch stands on the third Sunday in November. She had dreamed of Draco again last night. She had been in Malfoy Manor, hearing Hermione’s screams as Bellatrix Lestrange tortured her. Draco, who had always protected himself first, had saved them all. She was sure of it. Had he not given her his wand and stopped Bellatrix, sacrificing himself in the process she would have died and Ron and Hermione with her. She had died though just a month later, she thought viciously. Now she was stuck in the past and Ron, Hermione, and Draco weren’t even born yet. They would never know her; if she met them in the future they would be merely shadows of the people she had known. What had all the suffering been for? Iris kicked the ground in front of her.

With instincts developed from months on the run in a war, Iris felt someone looking at her. She looked up to see a tall figure making his way slowly towards her. Regulus looked tentative, his hands were shoved deeply in his pockets and he seemed to be arguing with himself. Iris watched him approach but said nothing. Finally, he stopped in front of her. She noticed his grey eyes, darker than Draco’s had been, had purple circles underneath them. His handsome face was set in deep lines. “Can we talk?” Regulus finally asked.

“Yeah. Alright, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Everything you recognize is from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince
> 
> I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who commented this week. I've been trying to write the next chapter and it's been a little like pulling teeth. Your kind words really help me to stay motivated. Thank you also for leaving kudos and following! I hope you like this chapter... a little bit of Iris' thought process during the great fight of Oct/Nov 1977. I know I left it on a cliff hanger... sorry!


	8. VII.

VII.

 _“He mounted his broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared; air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him—and in a rush of fierce joy he realized he’d found something he could do without being taught—this was easy, this was_ wonderful. _”--_ Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, pg. 148. 

“Yeah. Alright, then” Iris replied her eyes not quite meeting his own. She looked tired, as though she hadn’t been getting enough sleep. Her dark red curls were piled haphazardly on top of her head and she was hunched in on herself. Regulus desperately wished they could move past whatever it was that would happen next and just talk to each other.

Instead he said, “I shouldn’t have broken MacDonald’s wand.” Iris met his gaze, not saying anything but giving him the opportunity to explain. “People like her don’t understand us, will never understand us… but maybe, that’s a good thing.” Regulus rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously and sat down next to her. “People like her and Snape don’t have the same expectations, the same requirements we grew up with… I know that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t practice magic.” He glanced at Iris who was still staring straight ahead, her face impassive. “I mean,” he added hastily, “look at your mum. Slughorn is always talking about how good she is with Potions and she doesn’t have a drop of magical blood…” Regulus trailed off, unsure how to continue.

Iris didn’t say anything for so long, Regulus thought maybe he should just leave. He had apologized; if she didn’t want to talk to him, that was her right. Finally, “I grew up in the muggle world,” Iris said, her voice hoarse from disuse. “I grew up with my mum’s sister and her husband… they hated me. Called me a burden and a freak.” Regulus was shocked, thinking of the very much alive James Potter and Lily Evans. “I didn’t understand why they didn’t love me… I was too little to get it… Later, I found out it was because I was a witch. But then…” She sighed. “Then, I just thought something was wrong with me.”

Regulus didn’t know what to say. He remembered listening at the drawing room door as his mother was saying, _“Honestly, Orion. How that disappointment could have come from the Blacks is beyond me. Thank Merlin we have Sirius, the boy is almost a Squib.”_ He couldn’t find the words to tell Iris he understood, understood what it meant to be treated as disposable, as a _spare_ by the people who were supposed to love you. So, instead, Regulus said nothing and Iris continued.

“I guess what I am trying to say is I understand what it is to feel like you are worthless for something you can’t control,” she finished, studying Regulus’ face.

He felt cowed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so ashamed of his actions because, of course, Iris was right. Regulus could not imagine someone treating brave, beautiful, intelligent Iris like he had treated MacDonald. Like he treated all mud— _muggleborns_.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus said quietly with feeling. “Fuck, Iris. I’m so sorry,” he said and scrubbed a hand over his face. Regulus wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for really: what he did to Mary MacDonald; what her relatives had done to her; the fact that he had supported the man who was, or world be, responsible for the deaths of her parents, because of course Lily and James Potter were dead where she was from. Potter might be a pureblood but his parents certainly supported Dumbledore and Evans was muggleborn. They had died, were most likely murdered, and Iris had been left alone. Regulus knew that people were dying. He knew that the Dark Lord was killing people but he realized now that it hadn’t felt real, not until today. He didn’t really think about it, even with the newspaper articles and the hushed, fearful conversations that have taken place at Hogwarts for years. They weren’t people to him. Not flesh and blood in the way Evans and Potter were, in the way Iris was. Evans and Potter did not deserve to die. The Dark Lord was wrong. _Regulus_ was wrong.

He said it again, because it needed to be said. “Iris, I’m so sorry.” She looked at him then, really looked at him. He wasn’t sure what she saw in his face but he watched a small smile bloom across her features.

“Don’t apologize for Voldemort, Regulus. He’s not worth it,” she said simply and to his great relief she slipped her small hand into his larger one.

Regulus felt more at peace than he had in weeks. They sat in silence for a time, gazing out onto the pitch. Regulus was thinking about what Iris had told him about her childhood. It seemed obvious, now, that Iris had been somehow involved in the struggle against the Dark Lord since early childhood. There had been the odd pensive memory he’d seen in Dumbledore’s office the day she had arrived. Then, he remembered her mentioning she’d gotten her cursed scar as a small child, was that when James and Lily Potter had died?

“Iris,” he said finally. She looked at him, seeming to come back from a distance and hummed a reply. “What’s your scar from?” he asked again. Her face fell and he felt instantly guilty.

A bitter little smile flitted across her face. “It's always down to my scar, isn’t it?” she asked.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t have to tell me,” he rushed to say, squeezing her hand. He didn’t want her to relive her parents’ death just to satisfy his curiosity. He shouldn’t pry, not so soon after they had made up.

Iris sighed. “No, it’s not you. Not really.” She looked at him wryly, “Honestly, it might be nice to tell someone the story for once.” Iris leaned back and contemplated the sky for a moment, appearing to organize her thoughts before continuing. “Regulus, I am trusting you here.” The look she sent him was piercing. “I need to trust someone and for some reason I think that person is you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Regulus found himself saying.

Iris let out her breath in a gust of air. “No. No, Regulus. I know what kind of man you are capable of being,” she said forcefully, he wasn’t sure who she was convincing him or herself, but Regulus found that he desperately wanted to be the man she thought he could become. Regulus wanted to be worthy of her trust, so he nodded fervently.

“Before I was born,” Iris paused, looked at Regulus and cleared her throat. “Before I was born, my parents were a part of an organization that Dumbledore established to fight Voldemort.” Regulus shuddered at the Dark Lord’s name. “But soon after I was born they went into hiding. We lasted a little over a year.” Iris stopped talking for a long moment and Regulus retook her hand in his, rubbing small circles into the soft skin. “Then they trusted the wrong person and he sold us to Voldemort,” she said in a terrible matter of fact voice. “He killed my dad first,” she said her voice breaking. “Dad tried to give mum and me a chance to run.” Regulus closed his eyes, because of course James Potter had tried to give his wife and child an opportunity to flee. “Then, Voldemort stepped over dad and—and he told mum to step aside, that she didn’t need to die too.” Iris seemed lost in her story, perhaps remembering that terrible night. Regulus, however, was wondering why if the Dark Lord wanted to kill the Potters he’d offered Iris’ mother a chance to live. He didn’t have much opportunity to ponder this as Iris continued, “But mum wouldn’t step aside. So he murdered her. Then Voldemort tried to kill me. I was just a baby…” She trailed off. “I was just a baby but he couldn’t do it. My mother’s sacrifice saved my life.” Iris seemed to come out of a trance and looked at him her eyes bright with unshed tears. “You said, Regulus, that the killing curse doesn’t leave a mark. Well it did that night. Voldemort tried to kill me and it rebounded. He was reduced to something less than a ghost for thirteen years and I was left with this scar.”

Regulus sat back, stunned. No one survived the killing curse. It was impossible, yet here she was, claiming to have survived twice. First as an infant and then later when she traveled back in time. Despite the impossibility of it, Regulus believed every word of Iris’ fantastical story. It explained why her cursed scar had been bleeding when he found her in the Forbidden Forest. It must have reacted to the second curse somehow. Finally, Regulus found his voice, “What happened to you?”

Iris, who had been looking pointedly away from him, returned her gaze to his a profound sadness swirling in the mixture of gold, brown, and green. She shrugged. “I was sent to live with my mother’s sister and was ignorant of magic for ten years. When I returned to magical world and learned that he wasn’t dead like everyone seemed to think; but rather, was biding his time, I knew I had to fight him.” Regulus nodded, understanding.

Regulus knew that there was more to Iris’ story. She had yet to explain her role in the war she’d fought, neither had she explained what he would do in her future that made her trust him. For now, he accepted that what she told him was enough. Looking at her now, he felt he understood the paradoxical creature that had landed in his path in the forest weeks ago a little more. Regulus was humbled by the trust she had placed in him, he hoped to prove worthy of it.

The sun was dipping low in the sky, casting the empty Quidditch pitch in bright late afternoon light. Iris looked drained from their conversation and the revelations it brought. Regulus cast around for something to distract her from the war, if just for the afternoon. When it came to him, it was painfully obvious. “Iris, do you want to fly with me?”

“I don’t have a broom, remember?” she said with distinct longing in her voice.

“You’ll borrow mine. I’ll nick Avery’s he won’t mind.” Regulus said quickly. Iris looked uncomfortable at the prospect of accepting help in any form but Regulus remained steadfast and she finally agreed.

He ducked into the broom shed and rummaged in the Slytherin section before returning with the two brooms tucked underneath his left arm. Iris was standing with her back to him staring at the Forbidden Forest. He wondered if, like him, she was thinking about the day she’d arrived in the past. He paused for a moment, but clearly feeling his eyes on her she turned around and smiled widely at him. Despite their earlier talk of death and pain, Regulus felt lighter than he had in weeks.

He held out his broom for her to take and she rushed forward, her earlier reticence forgotten. She kicked off the ground and in a display of extraordinary skill began speeding through the air. She zoomed high into the sky and Regulus quickly mounted Avery’s broom to join her. She was spinning around in a sort of elaborate dance, not appearing to care where she was headed. Regulus was entranced by the carefree spectacle.

Then, out of nowhere she dropped like a stone. She was rushing towards the ground, going too fast. Regulus with his heart in his throat sped after her. He wasn’t going to catch her. She was too far ahead of him and his broom as a much newer and faster model than Avery’s. She was going to crash. Finally, right before she hit the ground, she pulled the nose of the broom up and out of the dive. Iris let out a whoop of joy. She leveled out her broom, the tips of her toes brushing the grass.

She looked up at him, one arm raised to shield her eyes from the sun. “What are you doing up there? Come on, race me!” she called, sounding happy.

He grinned. “Just try to keep up.” And he took off.

He forced Avery’s broom skyward and began gaining in elevation. When he felt her at his heels he made an abrupt right turn towards the lake and shot downwards. Iris came up on his left side and took the lead, deftly corkscrewing towards the water and reaching out to skim the dark surface with her fingertips before pulling up. Regulus rarely flew with other seekers; most of his friends were beaters or chasers, primarily concerned with drills or tactics. Flying with Iris felt like coming together in a complicated choreographed dance they had both learned years ago and were now falling into the patterns without forethought or fear of misstep. He never wanted it to stop.

After several more passes around the grounds, Iris and Regulus landed back on the Quidditch pitch. For the first time since Regulus met her, Iris looked seventeen. Her eyes were bright and her smile wide. She fell back into the grass and laughed. “Thank you, Reg. I needed that,” she said.

He sat crossed legged next to her. “You’re welcome. You are a wonderful flyer.”

She made a face, but when she answered her voice was still light, “Thanks.”

“What’s that about?” he asked, jostling her leg with his own.

“Oh it’s just…nothing is really mine. If I’m a good flyer, it’s because James was or, I guess, is a good flyer.” She wrinkled her nose. “If I’m good at Potions, it’s because Lily is good at Potions…” Iris trailed off.

Regulus was slightly bemused. “Iris,” he said. “I’ve been flying against James Potter for years. I can safely say you are a much better flyer than he is.”

“Really?” she asked quietly. He nodded and a beautiful smile stretched across her face.

He lay back in the grass next to her and watched their breath rise in the cold November air. “Hey Regulus,” she said. He hummed a reply and she continued. “If there wasn’t a war, what would you like to do after Hogwarts?”

He turned his face to see her looking at him a hopeful look on her face. “It doesn’t really matter.” He sighed. “I’ll be working with my father, preparing to take over responsibilities as the head of the family.”

“What does that mean exactly?” she asked, her eyebrows drawing together.

“Well,” he said thinking. “We primarily live in town but the Black’s have the estate in Bedfordshire. My mother’s cousin lives there now that my uncle died,” his voice caught on the last word but he rushed to continue. “I understand we used to breed hippogriffs there but my great grandfather was mauled when he was seven and the family gave it up as a bad job.” Iris chuckled and Regulus’ stomach turned over. “Beyond the estate, we have a seat in the Wizengamot, so it is expected that we engage in politics.” Regulus was not looking forward to the posturing and scheming of politics. He may be a Slytherin but he political conversations with his fathers’ friends always left him feeling hard done by.

Iris was scrutinizing his face. Regulus realized how perilously close they were to returning to the topic of the Dark Lord. It was true that recently all of his father’s politicking was aimed at the goal of Regulus eventually joining the Dark Lord’s ranks and restoring the family’s honor. Iris let the allusion pass uncommented on and Regulus released a breath. He stood by what he’d said earlier. He shouldn’t have broken MacDonald’s wand and he thought that muggleborns ought to study at Hogwarts. He knew what the Dark Lord did to Iris was wrong, that the Dark Lord was wrong. Yet Regulus could not jump headlong into the fight against the Dark Lord; he was not his brother, the brazen champion of the downtrodden. Regulus was cunning and determined and above all he was a Black. Regulus would save House Black from the stain that the Dark Lord sought to bring. He would convince his father of the folly that following the Dark Lord surely was.

“What would you do if you could do anything?” Iris asked breaking into his musings. “If you weren’t bound by the responsibilities of your family?”

Regulus closed his eyes and unbidden half formed dreams rose to the surface of his brain, freeing themselves from the boxes he had carefully locked when Sirius had abandoned the family. “I don’t know, Iris. Does it matter?” he asked sharply.

“Just imagine,” she said plaintively.

Regulus sighed. “I guess I’d like to work in historical spell research. There are a lot of rituals that use runes that are no longer in use and charms that we don’t fully understand their purpose. If we could understand their usage, we could improve on them and perhaps expand on branches of magic that are so under utilized like time travel or necromancy.” He glanced at her, half expecting the familiar dismissive look but Iris appeared to be listening intently and smiled at him. He felt a small balloon inside his chest expand with air, she believed in him. Then he remembered; it didn’t matter, he could never do any of that, not as the Black heir, and the balloon popped.

As though sensing his change in mood, Iris nudged his shoulder with her own and said, “I think you’d be brilliant at that.”

He smiled and hoped he was able to keep the slight bitterness out of his tone when he replied, “Thanks. How about you? What would you do?”

Iris made a small noise in the back of her throat as she considered the question. “I don’t really know,” she said at last. “I used to think I wanted to be an Auror, but I think that’s just the only thing that made sense with the war…” She fell silent and started to fiddle with the sleeve of her jumper. “I think I’d really like the chance to find out, though.” Iris finished and smiled sadly.

Regulus didn’t know what to say to that statement. Both their lives were dictated by forces outside their control; his by the relentless expectations inherent in being and Black and hers, it seemed, by whatever caused Lord Voldemort to hunt down and murder James and Lily Potter. Despite the futility of it, Regulus wished just for a moment that they were muggleborns, free to move through the wizarding world without the burden of history.

They arrived at the Slytherin Common Room and Iris returned to their earlier conversation without preamble. “You understand, Regulus, why I am going to fight him? Why I’ve got to do stop him?” He did understand. Regulus understood with perfect clarity that to Iris this war was not his parents’ idle talk from the comfort of their sitting room, nor was it the glorious cause his brother saw. Iris understood the terrible, terrifying thing this war would be, yet was still willing to fight. Her face was flushed from their flying and pieces of her dark red hair were loose around her face but in that moment she looked utterly assured, it was intoxicating. Regulus thought about kissing her.

He didn’t. Instead, he reached out and ran a hand softly down one arm and smiled sadly at this child soldier. “I understand, Iris. I really do.”

*

A few days after Regulus and Iris’ talk on the Quidditch Pitch, Regulus was seated in the Library hastily working through a particularly troubling Runes translation he had neglected the evening prior. Regulus was reaching for his copy of _Spellman’s Syllabary_ to confirm his translation of _Dagaz_ , when Severus Snape appeared in front of him. Snape pulled out the chair across from Regulus and sat down. Regulus frowned, he and Snape were acquaintances but hardly close enough to study together. “Black,” Snape said, his flat vowels belaying his carefully cultivated accent.

“Can I help you, Severus?” Regulus asked, intrigued. 

“I see you and the new girl are friends again,” Snape said oily. “I’d watch myself, if I were you. Wouldn’t want certain interested parties to know close you are to the daughter of a _muggle_.”

Regulus stiffened, “I didn’t know you’d become my mother’s errand boy, Severus.” Regulus examined his cuticles. “Then again, mother is always trying to help others improve their station.” Snape’s face twisted into an ugly frown and he opened his mouth to respond. Regulus cut over him, “Now that we are speaking of parentage, remind me: what does _your_ father do again?”

The blood drained from Snape’s face and he opened and closed his mouth several times. He had clearly forgotten telling Lucius Malfoy his father was a muggle during his first year rather than the foreign half-blood he now claimed. Lucius, naturally, had wasted no time in informing Narcissa who had in turn ensured the information was an open secret among the _right_ families. Snape, despite his potions brilliance, would never be considered truly appropriate company. Regulus smiled bitterly at Snape’s consternation; no matter how many times Slughorn praised him or Avery deigned to include him, Severus was not one of them. Finally, Snape’s face resolved itself into a look of pure spite. “You’ll never be good enough for her, you know. You can’t be one of them and be good enough for her.”

Regulus scoffed, “I haven’t a clue what your talking about, Snape. If you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do than listen to your sniveling.” Regulus gathered his things and marched out of the library, leaving an angry Severus Snape in his wake.

In the following days, Regulus tried to convince himself that Snape was blowing things out of proportion. After all, Iris wasn’t Lily Evans. She was a Slytherin as well. She would understand the responsibilities and restrictions Regulus’ family placed on him. He resolutely disregarded the niggling feeling in the back of his mind that told him that Iris would never understand choosing not to act against Voldemort. All the while, he couldn’t help talking to Iris, laughing with her; studying with her; inventing reasons to be alone with her. Yet somewhere in the back of his brain raged a battle he did his level best to ignore: _Iris or his family?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regulus and Iris finally have a good chat! What did you all think? Is Iris too forgiving? Is Regulus believable? I think my favorite part of the chapter is Snape shit stirring... he is such a slime ball. Thank you to everyone who reads and as always I appreciate all feedback whether it comes in the form of kudos, reviews or follows.


	9. VIII.

VIII.

 _“You think the dead we have loved ever truly leave us? You think we don’t recall them more clearly than ever in times of great trouble? Your father is alive in you, Harry, and shows himself most plainly when you have need of him. How else could you produce that_ particular _Patronus. Prongs rode again last night.”_ –Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, p. 312.

In the weeks after making up with Regulus, Iris felt happier than she had since arriving in the past. Around her news of the impending war continued to surface, but Iris felt disconnected from it, safe here at Hogwarts with her parents and Regulus. They hadn’t discussed her plans for the war or her parents' deaths since that day on the Quidditch pitch, nor she had returned to the Room of Hidden Objects. For the first time since Snape had killed Dumbledore at the top of the Astronomy Tower, Iris felt removed from the struggle against Voldemort. 

Regulus seemed more than happy to join in her good cheer. As November slid into December, their evenings were spent sprawled before the fire in the Slytherin Common Room chatting or working amicably on the extensive course load the Professors assigned NEWT students. One memorable evening, Regulus was animatedly explaining the Black’s Christmas traditions when Eamon Travers slumped into the chair next to Regulus with a defeated air.

“What has your wand in a knot?” Regulus asked sounding irritated.

Eamon sighed dramatically. “Slughorn’s just cornered me coming back from dinner.”

“Bad luck,” Iris commiserated. She privately thought that one of the few benefits to having time traveled was that Slughorn, despite being her Head of House, had absolutely no interest in her. Regulus and Eamon, however, were both members of the “Slug Club” and were occasionally subjected to cozy dinners, similar to those Slughorn had attempted to popularize in her sixth year.

“What did he want?” Regulus asked, kicking his legs up on the ottoman.

“He’s planning to hold one of his parties again. You know.” Eamon glanced meaningfully at Regulus. “The kind where we can bring guests.”

“Surely not,” Regulus cried stifling laughter. “Not after Bertha Jorkins sicked up all over the Head of those French apothecaries. When was that? Third year?”

“It was fourth year,” Eamon corrected. “And Slughorn said that he finally got the man to agree to renew his contract and that was a sign to try the parties again. Mad, eh?” Iris joined in their laughter, remembering Slughorn’s Christmas Party her sixth year.

She looked up to catch the boys exchanging significant looks, before Eamon kicked Regulus roughly in the shin. “You should come,” Regulus put in suddenly. “To the party, I mean.” He flushed. “It’ll be a good place for you to meet people for a job after Hogwarts.”

Iris felt the blood rush to her face. Regulus was right; she needed to think about these things now. She couldn’t live off his charity forever and she no longer had her Gringotts account to fall back on. “I don’t think Slughorn will invite me,” She said in a small voice.

“You’ll come with me,” Regulus said confidently.

“You don’t mind?” Iris asked. Regulus was handsome and kind, he shouldn’t have to go with a time traveler just so he would be able to stop paying her way. He quickly shook his head and Iris felt a smile spread across her face.

“Thanks, Regulus.” On instinct, Iris quickly reached up and brushed her lips against his cheek.

*

While Iris’ friendship with Regulus was improving, her performance in classes was at an all time low. She seemed unable to perform even the simplest of spells with Draco’s wand. She knew the fact that she still thought of it as Draco’s wand was a part of the problem, Iris seemed unable to fully take ownership of the wand and it was lashing out. Unhelpfully, as the wand seemed less and less inclined to work for her she’d begun hearing Mr. Olivander’s voice repeating, _“After all Miss Potter, it’s the wand that choses the wizard.”_

Draco’s wand clearly was refusing to work for her anymore. Her professors had noticed and more than one had pulled her aside after class to advise her to ask Professor Dumbledore for special dispensation to go to Diagon Alley to buy a new one, but Iris could not bring herself to get rid of this final link to her past and to Draco. She knew it was stupid, especially now, to go around with a wand that wasn’t working properly, but it would feel like she was betraying Draco if she got rid of the Hawthorne wand.

The situation came to a head in Transfiguration at the beginning of the second week of December. They had moved on from switching spells to partial human cross species transfiguration, something Iris had looked forward to since learning in third year that her father had been an illegal animagius. Iris had been trying to grow whiskers for the past half an hour but had thus far been unable to make a single change to her face. Next to her, Lily was trying to remove her paws without the full use of her wand and failing spectacularly. Iris was preparing to try again when Professor McGonagall appeared in front of her with an expectant look.

“Well, Miss Granger lets see what you can do,” the brusque Scottish voice spoke.

Iris squared her shoulders, pointed Draco’s wand at her face and clearly said, “ _Feles Muto_.”* Nothing happened. The wand didn’t even seem to react to Iris’ intention. Iris felt her eyes burn with frustrated tears.

McGonagall hemmed. “Miss Granger,” she said in a kind voice that was somehow worse than if she had yelled. “I understand that wands can be very sentimental things but it has become clear to me that you simply cannot continue to try to use that one.”

“No, Professor,” Iris said quickly. “Let me try again. Just one more go.”

McGonagall shook her head sadly. “We’ve discussed this before, Miss Granger. I expect you to speak with the Headmaster about getting another wand. This one simply won’t perform at the level expected for N.E.W.T. standard.”

“I won’t,” Iris replied tightly. “I need this wand.” She was embarrassed to find her voice break on the last word.

“Miss Granger, I do not understand why you insist on debating this. Don’t be foolish,” McGonagall said shrilly.

Iris needed to get out of this room. She was about to cry about a stupid wand. Lily probably thought she was insane, arguing with McGonagall. Iris stood abruptly, jerking her chair away from the table and fled the room.

Iris tore down the corridor her eyes blurring with unshed tears and flung herself into the nearest deserted classroom. She was such an idiot. She shouldn’t be getting this worked up over a wand. Iris hadn’t been this upset over the loss of her Holly wand and that had always felt much more like an extension of her own arm. Draco’s wand felt separate, foreign and yet, she was desperate to hold on to it. She slid dejectedly down the wall facing the door. McGonagall was right; she needed to figure herself out. ' _He’s dead_ ,' she reminded herself. ' _He’s not coming back and holding on to his wand is not going to bring him back.'_

The door creaked open and James Potter, sporting a rather magnificent set of antlers, poked his head in. Iris didn’t yet trust her voice so she didn’t say anything. James appeared to take her silence as an invitation and stepped further into the room. She noticed he was carrying her bag slung over one shoulder and appeared to be debating whether to stay or simply to leave her things and go. Finally, he came to a decision and walked across the room sitting down next to her with a quiet, “Hullo.”

“Hi James,” Iris replied in a voice that wasn’t far off her normal one, quickly scrubbing a hand over her eyes. “Thanks for bringing my stuff, very Head Boy-like.”

James colored slightly at the compliment and chuckled, after a few seconds of silence, he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Oh,” Iris didn’t really want to talk about it. How could she explain Draco to James? So, she equivocated, “I’m just being silly.”

“Yeah?” James questioned lightly. “Well, I’m aces at being silly, everyone says so.” He gave her a wide smile and somewhere inside Iris a little girl, stuffed inside a cupboard, melted. She felt a desperate desire to hand her problems to James Potter and have her father tell her what to do.

Iris bit her lip, unsure where to start. “He died so that I could have this wand and now… now it just won’t work right. The professors keep telling me that I need to get a new one. One that suits me, but I feel like if I do, what was it even worth?” Iris tried to explain her need to commemorate Draco’s sacrifice and all that lay between them. She looked up at James who looked confused; his bright hazel eyes, so like her own, scrunched as he pondered her words.

Finally, he asked, “What happened?”

“He was pureblood…” Iris started, careful to be as vague as possible. “His family was mixed up with Voldemort but we knew each other growing up.” She hoped he didn’t think it was odd that a girl claiming to be a homeschooled half-blood knew the child of Death Eaters, but continued anyway. “We used to argue all the time, he would really get under my skin, you know? Some of it was just him being a git but sometimes, he would be really hurtful, you know, say things about muggle-borns and magical creatures… I am not really sure if he believed it or if that was just what he was taught to say…” Iris remembered Draco’s crusade against Buckbeak and a little of the old guilt resurfaced. 

“Anyway, when we were around fourteen, fifteen, something happened that made the war feel _real_. For the both of us, I think.” Iris looked at James, right now her father probably couldn’t fathom what happened in that graveyard or having to live in the same house as Lord Voldemort. “I started to only really feel alive when I was arguing with Draco.” Iris had been so angry fifth year with Dumbledore ignoring her and Umbridge not teaching them any Defence. “We would get into these snarky little tiffs, just the two of us,” she continued. “It drove our friends crazy. Then one day, I guess we just snapped. I’ll spare you the gory details but we started snogging.” Iris had never found the courage to tell Ron and Hermione what was happening. Hermione might have suspected, but she’d never confronted Iris on it. Iris was incredibly grateful to Hermione for that, how could she have explained that she was repeatedly snogging someone who called her best friend a mudblood?

James chuckled bringing Iris back to the present. “Awfully scandalous, Granger,” He snarked.

“Oh, it was,” ‘ _You have no idea, dad,’_ Iris felt like adding, but didn’t. “I think that was a big part of the appeal. I mean, he was this perfect little pureblood prince and I was—” she cut herself off before she could say the Girl Who Lived. “I was not… So anyway, last year after the Death Eaters came after my family, I know Professor Dumbledore told you and Lily,” and she glanced at James for confirmation and he nodded looking sympathetic. “Well, my friends and I were captured.” James stiffened next to her. “We were done for. They had our wands. We were completely at their mercy….” Iris remembered Greyback’s gloating face in Malfoy Manor and shook herself lightly.

“They took us back to his family’s home. The Death Eaters who caught us needed to be sure we were who they thought we were, so Draco’s aunt, who’s a real piece of work, called him in. She knew that we knew each other. Not the extent, mind you.” Iris looked back up at James and saw a grimace of understanding grow on his features. “But she figured that if anyone could confirm our identities, it would be Draco. I could tell when he came in that he was scared out of his mind. He had changed from the entitled little berk I had grown up with, but…" Iris paused to moisten her dry lips. "I suppose living with Lord Voldemort will do that to a person.”

Iris shouldn’t have said that; she shouldn’t have told James that Draco lived with Voldemort. It was reckless, but it felt so nice to be confiding in him. Even with Regulus, Iris needed to be so careful about what she said, dancing around the truth of her past. “Anyway,” Iris continued hurriedly. “Draco lied to his aunt. He knew it was me, no way he didn’t… Still… he told her that they’d gotten it wrong.”

“She believed him, but she didn’t let us go. We had something she wanted… so she decided to chuck us in the cellar and start torturing one of my friends. Draco led us down into the cellars and all the while I could hear my friend screaming and begging her to stop. Telling her we didn’t know anything. Asking her to just kill her….” Iris didn’t think she would ever stop hearing Hermione’s screams from that night. “When we got to the basement, Draco was supposed to tie us up. He didn’t, instead he showed us where the other prisoners were. Then," Iris paused, remembering the look of determination that had stolen across Draco's aristocratic features in the moments before he'd acted. "He gave me his wand.” Iris twirled the Draco’s wand convulsively. “You know,” she admitted, glancing at James. “In that moment, it felt like the first time, I’d held my wand at Olivander’s. It was so warm, it was like a rush of strength.” James nodded, clearly remembering his own visit to that shop.

“So, Draco told me that I had to get out of there. That, I could save my friends and we could leave… it was crazy but we managed it. We got Hermione and a house elf was able to apparate us away. I thought Draco was going to come with us… I mean, it was pretty clear we didn’t over power him. But at the last minute he didn’t come. He just said that I needed to leave—to live. He said,” her voice broke as she continued, “that I was more important than him.” 

Iris remembered the stench of Dungeons in Malfoy Manor. Luna and Dean’s unwashed bodies and Ron’s urgent cries that they needed to get back upstairs to Hermione. Draco’s clutching fingers and his desperate voice, “ _Iris you’re the one that has to survive, not me. You’ve got to kill the Dark Lord.”_ Then Wormtail had come down the stairs and everything had fallen apart. James made an aborted movement as though to take her hand and she continued, “The last thing I saw as Dobby aparated us away was Draco’s aunt sticking a cursed knife in his stomach as he blocked her bodily from coming after us. I learned later that he had been tortured to death.” 

She’d vomited watching Voldemort torture Draco at Shell Cottage. Iris looked at James, he was utterly flummoxed. Iris shouldn’t have put this story on the 17-year-old James; he didn’t understand war, not yet at least. She quickly changed the subject from torture and death, “I think I know why his wand doesn’t really work well for me.”

James made a continue gesture with his right hand. 

“It's all flash, I mean, this wand, I can do magic with it when I really feel it. It works fine in a fight. It’s harsh edges and need. That’s sort of how we were too. We were good at the passion, but we didn’t know how to act around each other when the passion had flamed out. We had no softness. Do you know what I mean?” Iris said in a rush, not sure how best to explain to her teenage father that her first real relationship had boiled down to a series of hormone driven, frantic fumbles in darken corridors with a person she barely acknowledged in public.

James reached out and wrapped his fingers tightly around hers. Iris relaxed. She realized that she’d never needed James to say anything in particular. It was just nice to have him sit with her, to let her know she wasn’t alone. That she had more than a broken wand and a collection of memories of people who did not yet exist.

Sitting there with James, Iris thought about Draco. He had been funny and clever. He knew how to push her buttons better than any person she’d ever met and she spent six years with Snape. She remembered his mutually beneficial relationship with Rita Skeeter. He’d invented so many stories about her, but how much had Draco really known her? How much had she known him? She let out a dry chuckle. James looked up from his perusal on the floor and raised an eyebrow. “Oh,” Iris took her hand back. “It isn’t funny. I was just thinking that he probably didn’t even know how I take my tea.”

“D’you know how he took his?” James asked.

“With _lemon_ ,” Iris said with great disgust. “The poncy little Francophile.” And with that, they were both laughing, James’ antlers shaking with his mirth. After a few minutes they collected themselves but whatever spell had existed was clearly broken and there was a new awkwardness.

In silent consensus, Iris and James clumsily rose. Iris knew she needed to speak to the Headmaster. It was time to get a new wand, one that knew her as much as she knew it. At the door Iris turned, “Hey, thanks for listening to me. I guess I needed to tell someone that.” A wide smile broke across James’ face. Iris memorized this moment before nodding brusquely before turning around and starting down the corridor. Iris walked a few paces calling over her shoulder, “Oh, and James… Nice rack!” Behind her, James broke into riotous laughter. 

*

Sunday evening, Iris found herself slowly climbing the spiraling staircase up to the Headmaster’s office. She knocked and waited for Dumbledore to invite her in. A few moments passed and Iris rapped her knuckles firmly against the oak door for the second time. Again, she was greeted with silence. Iris checked the slightly battered muggle watch she wore; she wasn’t early. Pushing open the door, Iris ducked her head into the office. The room was empty and Fawkes’ post deserted. Iris stepped quickly inside. Dumbledore must be running late.

The last two times she’d been in the Headmaster’s office she’d been too distracted to pay much attention, but now she glanced around the comfortably appointed room with a sharp pang of familiarity. Iris remembered the countless hours she’d spent in the cluttered office with Dumbledore. Despite the numerous instances where Iris had been left to fight for her life on his watch, the Headmaster had always been able to make Iris feel protected. Even when she’d felt her lowest, after Sirius’ died, being in Dumbledore’s space had been reassuring. Iris reflexively glanced to the small table where the Headmaster's spindly sliver instruments were arrayed; fewer than there had been when she’d destroyed them. She felt an almost overwhelming urge to smash them again, to break something. She imagined for a moment, leaving Dumbledore’s carefully arranged treasures broken and littered on the floor.

Instead, Iris continued her quiet contemplation of the office. In the corner stood the cabinet where Dumbledore kept the pensive. Unlike her previous forays into the Headmaster’s office unaccompanied, Iris felt no desire to go diving through other people’s recollections. The memories of Snape’s dying bequest were all too recent and painful.

Iris glanced at her watch again. It was now ten minutes past the hour. She frowned; it was unlike Dumbledore to be this late. In fact, Iris had never known him to miss one of their appointments. Sighing, Iris threw herself down in one of the plush armchairs in front of Dumbledore’s desk and pulled out Draco’s wand. She rolled the Hawthorne wood between her fingers and contemplated her upcoming trip to Olivander’s. Would her Holly wand already been there? She couldn’t remember if she’d ever been told when her wand had been made. 

Iris looked up and her eyes landed on Dumbledore’s desk. She saw, lying innocently on the burnished oak, the Elder Wand. She abruptly stood up, Iris’ fingers itched with the desire to grab, claim, _conquer_ the wand of Death. With a nervous glance to the still closed door, she hastened around the desk. On this side, Iris noticed the thing next to the Elder wand: a single Phoenix feather. Comprehension hit Iris with the force of a bludger. Dumbledore had left her a test. Iris was once again expected to stand in front of a dangerous, powerful, magical object and decline the boon it promised. Just like with the Philosopher’s Stone, Dumbledore was telling her that ' _the only person who could find the wand, would be one that did not want to use it.'_

Iris let out a frustrated breath of air. Naturally, she understood what the Headmaster thought she should do in that moment. Iris was meant, once again, to underscore her difference from Voldemort and refuse the power the Elder Wand promised. Iris was not supposed to seek powerful magical objects and if she encountered them it was her duty as Dumbledore’s girl prove herself above their siren call. Dumbledore believed that Iris would meekly take Fawkes’ feather and commission a wand from Olivander. Iris was expected to chase Horcruxes not Hallows, she thought bitterly. Dumbledore was again holding her to standards he never expected himself to meet.

Perhaps, it was this last bitter thought that made her do it. Or maybe the Deathly Hallows were in her blood, she was, after all, a descendent of the Peverells. Maybe, it was the hundreds of small indignities she’d suffered fighting Voldemort’s war using Dumbledore’s rulebook. Ultimately, for whatever reason, Iris grasped the curved wand. A powerful feeling of rightness rushed through her. She suddenly knew; it was not the Hawthorne wand Draco had died to give her. His sacrifice was simply one more in the trail of blood the Death Stick left in its wake. She pulled the Hawthorne wand out of her pocket once more and placed it carefully on the Desk where the Elder wand once sat. Iris nodded, task complete, she turned and headed to the door.

Walking out of Dumbledore’s office, Iris understood with the same clarity she’d felt at his funeral, that this decision marked the end of her reliance on the great wizard. Iris felt a weight drop into her stomach. Never again, would Iris be dependent on his instructions or his limitations. Never again, would she be able to sit across from him in this office and listen as he jumped in to solve her problems. A few months earlier, Iris had chosen to pursue the Horcruxes over the Hallows based on a smattering of clues left by a dead man. Now, she chose to use the Hallows to find the Horcruxes. Some might say there wasn’t much of a difference; but Iris knew, and so would Dumbledore, that the tools a man used to act were almost as important as the actions themselves. Iris would kill Voldemort using the Elder wand. For, who else could yield Death’s gifts but the Girl Who Lived?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *In the sixth book "Crinus Muto" is used to change hair color. Feles is one of the latin words for cat.
> 
> James bonding! And Iris is now in possession of one of the Hallows. One of my favorite things about this fic is finding the chapter quotes that set the stage and I am particularly proud of this one. I think it works with Iris coming to terms with the death of someone she cared about and realizing that despite James not being her father he can still be in her life. Thank you always to everyone who read and left kudos, reviews, or bookmarked the story. I don't always reply to reviews if they don't ask questions or raise comments but I appreciate each and every one of them.


End file.
